The Baby Battle (3 page)

“Visits?” He snorted. “I don’t want to just visit my son. He’s mine. Meaning that at least half of the time he’ll live under my roof.” Rising, he paced.

Going to him, she put her hands on his shoulders. Ordinarily he considered Alice a part of the family. He welcomed her mother-hen-style advice. But this was one time when he’d rather she keep her mouth shut. What didn’t she get about the fact that this wasn’t his usual battlefield? When it came to matters concerning oil, it was in his blood. Parenthood took him into uncharted territory. Olivia Marshall currently had the upper hand. But just as soon as Alice tracked down Tag’s attorney, that was going to change.

“T
HANKS
, D
ANE
,” Olivia said to Gabby’s husband Monday morning in the Georgette County Courthouse
lobby. He’d helped her expedite a court hearing concerning Flynn’s custody. Although, since she’d also scheduled a fast-tracked DNA test for Tuesday, the court date might not even be necessary.

“No problem,” he said. “You were lucky Judge Marsbury was able to squeeze you in.”

“I know, but I don’t think he’d have been quite so accommodating without a nudge from you.”

“I was glad to help. And hopefully, this will turn out to be a mistake.” Dane’s assurance, along with the massive, churchlike space of the courthouse, put her at ease.

She found the law soothing. It was reliable. A lot of times criminal attorneys got a bad rap, but she chose her clients carefully. Justice meant a lot to her. Her father had been wrongly imprisoned for a white-collar crime it had later been proven his partner had committed. Yes, she’d been assigned clients who were guilty, but in the end, the truth had been unavoidable and justice was still served.

Forcing a laugh, she said, “From your lips to God’s ears.”

“At the very least, an angel or two.” Ushering her to one of the wooden pewlike benches lining the white marble floor, he said, “Gabrielle told me you were pretty shaken.”

“She would be right.” An image of Tag popped into her mind. The man was an egotistical brute. Olivia understood that he was excited about possibly being a
father, but he needed to lay off until his paternity was disproven.

And if it wasn’t?

The idea was too horrible to consider.

“What are you doing here?” In the hushed waiting area of Accurate Biosystem’s DNA testing facility, Olivia hadn’t meant to sound so curt. Or maybe she had. Either way, though she knew her personal attorney had notified Tag O’Malley regarding the time and place of Flynn’s half of the paternity testing, she hadn’t expected the enemy to be present.

He snapped, “Not only is it my legal right to ensure all testing is on the up-and-up, but in case you’ve forgotten, Flynn’s sample only makes part of the puzzle.” He sat in the armchair alongside hers, putting him not only uncomfortably close, but within perfect viewing range of her son, who was at her feet, sleeping soundly in his carrier. Olivia would’ve expected the harsh lines etched into Tag’s forehead and around his mouth to soften when he stared at her baby. To the contrary, he only scowled harder.

What was he thinking—how badly he wanted Flynn to be his?

Stomach tensed, Olivia fought to steady the
National
Geographic
she’d been reading before Tag’s arrival. She told herself the article on Bali’s lost tribes was scintillating, but truthfully, her eyes weren’t even focused on the page.

Fury didn’t begin to cover how upset this whole issue had made her. One day her life with Flynn had been idyllic. The next, a nightmare from which there might be no escape. Over and over she’d played out the odds in her head. Worst case, if Tag did turn out to be Flynn’s sperm donor, they’d be looking at a partial custody arrangement, the very notion of which was unacceptable. She wasn’t going to
share
her baby.

Breaking the silence, a door at the far end of the pale blue waiting room opened. A woman wearing green scrubs consulted a chart before calling, “Olivia and Flynn Marshall.”

Gripping her son’s carrier, she rose, as did Tag.

“I prefer to be alone,” she said.

“Tough. According to my attorney, I have every right to witness the test being performed.”

On that fact he was correct, which was why she hadn’t already shoved him out of her way. From the day he’d set foot on her property, he’d declared war. Meaning she wasn’t about to spoon-feed him legal pointers.

In a nine-by-ten blue windowless room there were two guest chairs, one blood-collection chair with oversize padded arm rests, and a cabinet wall with a counter and sink. There were a couple of cheap and ugly prints on the walls, along with a factoid poster entitled “DNA and
You.” The room smelled of antiseptic and a strawberry-shaped air freshener that was dangling from a cabinet doorknob.

Olivia took the seat nearest the exit, holding Flynn’s carrier on her lap.

“My name’s Jamie,” said the pretty blonde medical tech in a chirpy voice. “Today’s procedure is painless and simple. Mom, before we begin, our chain of custody procedure requires that you show a photo ID, then we’ll need your thumbprint and I’ll take a Polaroid of you. Also, as the child in question’s legal guardian, you’ll need to sign consent forms on his behalf. After that, I’ll collect your DNA samples using buccal swabs, which are kind of like a supersize Q-Tip, to rub excess skin cells from the inside of both your and your son’s cheeks.”

“Will it hurt him?” Olivia asked.

“Not at all,” the woman assured her with a warm smile. “He probably won’t even wake up.” Looking to Tag, she said, “Are you also being tested?”

“Yes,” he said, still standing, his hands in his pants pockets. He wore another dark suit. His shirt was an impeccably starched cobalt-blue. His tie was a striped study in varying shades of blue with an occasional slice of yellow. “Though my official appointment isn’t for another hour.”

“Want me to go ahead and do all of you now?”

“No,” Olivia barked, wanting only to escape. This whole thing was making her feel like a guest on
Jerry Springer.

“Yes,” Tag said.

“Which will it be?” The med tech glanced up from a notation she’d just made in Olivia’s chart.

Tag glared in her direction—the man’s determination gave off its own heat wave.

“Go ahead and fit him in,” Olivia said, more out of her wish to both leave and avoid an argument than any charity she might’ve felt in her heart.

“Thank you,” he silently mouthed.

He wasn’t welcome.

The tech left to find his file.

“I appreciate you caving on this point,” he said. “Now, if you’d just let me hold our son, we’d be like one happy family.”

“He’s not yours.” Olivia ground out the words from between clenched teeth. “A fact we will soon enough have verified.”

Sitting beside her, he sighed.

“What?”

He angled to face her. “Why are you so hostile? You’re not the only one who stands to be hurt by all of this.”

“Hurt?” Tears, hot and stinging, filled her eyes while a knot blocked her throat. “Oh—having a stranger appear out of nowhere demanding I hand over my son is a bit more serious than that.”

“Lady, I’ve tried to—”

“Okay…” The tech was back, this time with a fresh bundle of paperwork Olivia recognized from the pile she’d earlier had to fill out. “This is for you,” she said,
handing him a clipboard and pen. “I’ll also need your ID, a thumbprint and photo of you for our records.”

Tag shot Olivia a brief glare before thanking the tech and commencing with his assignment.

“I
S THIS WHAT YOU’VE BEEN
waiting for?” Thursday morning Alice waltzed into Tag’s office bearing a FedEx envelope. “It’s from the lab.”

Nervous didn’t begin to describe the emotions churning Tag’s stomach. He knew in his heart Olivia’s baby was also his. At the lab, the more he’d looked at the little guy, the more in love he’d fallen. In the quiet of his lonely nights Tag had already made plans. Which area of his office to transform into a nursery. Whether or not he wanted his son to play Little League baseball, peewee football or both. Would he grow up to be an oilman? Or branch out into something more to his own liking?

“Want me to open it for you?” Alice wagged the envelope.

Seated at his desk, he covered his face with his hands. His heart pounded to an uncomfortable degree.

“Tag?” she prodded. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. Give me that.” He took the envelope from her. As if removing a bandage, he tore the packet’s sealing tape fast. Removing the contents, he forced a deep breath, and then read.

“T
HANKS FOR COMING
,” Olivia said to Stephanie. They shared a corner table at Morgan’s—a coffeehouse just off Fifth and Cummings in the heart of Valley View.

Usually the beach-scene wall murals and tangle of tropical plants put her at ease. If those didn’t work, the luau classics usually did. Something about drinking coffee with Don Ho crooning brought a heavenly slice of Hawaii to Arkansas. The scent of freshly baked breads and cookies never hurt, either.

On this day, however, no amount of kitsch was going to con her brain into a mellow mood. Olivia knew she should have been brave enough to open the paternity results on her own, but for whatever reason, she wasn’t.

Flynn had been deep into his afternoon nap at his Montessori school day care, so she’d left him in capable hands.

“My pleasure,” Steph said, sipping chai tea. “I tried finding the rest of the gang, but no one else could make it on short notice. My sister’s with the twins.”

The FedEx envelope holding the test results sat between them on the table. The portion of her cappuccino Olivia had already downed was burning a hole through her stomach.

“Well?” Stephanie opened the pack of butter cookies she’d bought to go along with her tea.

“I can’t do it,” Olivia said, shoving the packet to her friend. “Please, can you open it?”

Her friend solemnly nodded.

In the moments it took Steph to tug open the pull strip, Olivia fought to breathe. All her hopes hung on the paternity test to return with a zero probability of
Tag being Flynn’s father. Closing her eyes, she prayed,
Please, please, please don’t let him
—

“Oh, Liv…”

Olivia opened her eyes to see her friend look near tears. Happy or sad?

“I’m so sorry. But, sweetie, tests prove that with 99.9 percent certainty, this Tag character is Flynn’s biological father.”

Though Steph babbled more apologies and words she no doubt meant to be a comfort, her sentiments registered in slow motion. For how many years had Olivia prided herself on being able to hold her calm through any storm? Yet here she was in the midst of the single most horrible thing to have ever happened to her, and she was falling apart. Now was the time for her to steel her resolve to see this matter through.

So what if Tag O’Malley was her son’s father?

In her book that entitled him to diddly-squat. There was way more involved in being a parent than just numbers on a test. If Tag had been so eager to be a dad, why had his sperm ended up at a lab in the first place? Why hadn’t he just gone the traditional route? The man didn’t have a ring on his finger, which Olivia assumed meant he wasn’t married, so what gave him the right to think he could just bust in on her carefully planned life, demanding she share her child?

Easing her fingers into the hair at her temples, she pulled, desperate for her mind to find answers. There had to be obscure case law somewhere concerning a matter of
this nature. She just hadn’t searched far enough. Studied nearly enough. But she would. Okay, so she appeared in court tomorrow. That was all right. She’d put every one of the firm’s junior attorneys on this matter. Every paralegal, every secretary—heck, every custodian.

By tomorrow Tag O’Malley would be annihilated.

“Liv?”

Olivia glanced up.

“Honey, say something. You’re worrying me. Your expression is…well, for lack of a better word, thunderous. What are you thinking?”

With a sad laugh, Olivia said, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“T
HIS MAY BE UNORTHODOX
,” the Honorable Judge Marsbury said from his bench Friday afternoon, “but in a case like this, I want a complete picture—beyond what the lawyers say. So, one at a time, I want to hear from the folks doing the feuding. Ms. Marshall, Mr. O’Malley, in your own words, please tell me not only why you’d like to be Baby Flynn’s primary caregiver, but what makes you uniquely qualified.” Nodding toward Tag’s opponent, the judge added, “Ladies first.”

All business, her red hair drawn into a severe twist, Olivia would have looked more like an overdressed prison guard than a mom if it hadn’t been for the pearls glowing at her throat. She cleared her throat and stood.

“Your Honor,” she said, looking cool, calm and utterly
unflappable, “thank you for this opportunity to express my wishes concerning my son.”

The judge nodded.

“As the child of interest’s mother, obviously this matter is of utmost concern to me. To say I love my son doesn’t begin to describe the emotion that goes into each and every moment with him. He is the core of my world.” After pausing to consult notes she’d written on a yellow legal pad, she continued. “What makes me uniquely qualified to care for Flynn is the plain and simple fact that I am the infant’s biological mother. I carried him inside me for nine long months. I’ve been with him every day since. The two of us have a bond that is special to us both. During my pregnancy I immersed myself in child-development classes and studies in proper child discipline techniques and nutrition and ways to decorate children’s rooms to best stimulate their creativity and mathematical skills.” Once again consulting her notes, the textbook in heels finished with, “In closing, Your Honor, I’m bowing to your expertise in these custodial matters to see that as the child’s birth mother, I’m not only the better suited choice for Flynn to reside with, but really, the
only
choice. Thank you.” With a formal nod, she was finished.

The judge made a few notes, then looked to Tag’s table. “Sir, whenever you’re ready.”

Standing, Tag said, “Thank you, Your Honor.” Clearing his throat, fighting an uncharacteristic ball of nerves, he managed, “Um, I’m in the oil business, and usually I
have no problem speaking to a couple of guys out in the field or a couple hundred suits in some swanky boardroom. But this is one occasion when I’m having a miserable time finding the right words.” He sighed and ran his hand through his already-messed-up hair. “Bottom line, I come from a big Irish family. My mom and dad were the best—still are. They filled me with the fire to one day have my own family, which I did. A couple years out of college, I married the prettiest gal you ever did see. Her name was Maria and when she smiled…” Eyes shining with unshed tears, he touched his chest. “When she smiled, I was the luckiest man in the world. Long story short, we tried having our own brood, but things didn’t work out. I told her, angel, let’s just pick a bunch of kids who need adopting. We’ll love ’em all just the same. And I would’ve. But she had some cockamamy notion that I had to have a son of my own blood to be happy. Docs told her that artificial insemination was the way to go. I fought against it, but since it was what she wanted, I dutifully marched down to the lab and did my business—if you know what I mean.”

Chuckling, the judge said, “Yessir, I believe I do. Please continue.”

“Well, anyway, right after that, my Maria got sick—real sick. Of all things, she died of pneumonia. I didn’t even know that was possible in this day and age—aside from babies and old folks who are already weak.” Recalling the horror of those first few hours, days and weeks after holding her hand into death made it hard for him
to carry on, but out of his love for his wife he toughened up, continuing what he’d come here to do.

“Sir,” Tag managed, “when those suits at the lab told me I was a father after all…” With the heels of his hands he brushed away tears. Sniffling, smiling, he said, “That moment was like getting caught in a ray of light from heaven. I’d be first to admit I’m no expert in parenting. I don’t know a diaper from a bottle, but I’m a fast learner and already love my boy more than words can say. The first time I hold that little guy in my arms, I’ll probably die from an overwhelmed heart, but…”

Making more notes, the judge asked, “You mean to tell me that Ms. Marshall has not allowed you any contact with your child?”