Wild Honey (7 page)

He chortled as she made a face at him. Randi was secretly pleased, however, that Matt remembered this so clearly; it had occurred when he was only three. He was
bright and observant, not to mention remarkably coordinated for his age, she thought as he dodged a wave and swam a few yards. The mother-and-child swim classes they’d attended at the local Y had paid off.

They spent a good hour in the water before Matt opted for building a sand castle. Stopping to give him another. application of sunscreen first, Randi was surprised to hear him offer to coat her back with the lotion.

“Sure,” she answered. She handed him the sunscreen and plopped down on her stomach. As he went diligently to work applying the lotion, however, she saw what had likely prompted this: the red-haired father was in the process of applying lotion to the back of a woman who shared a blanket with him and his boys. Aware his own mother had no husband to help with the task, Matt had assumed the role.

Randi’s reaction was ambivalent. On the one hand, she was warmed that her son would be so solicitous of her; on the other, she wondered if Matt was beginning to think of himself as the “man of the family.” Had the lack of an adult to fill that role settled more firmly into his consciousness? Was this a fair burden to place on a four-year-old? She frowned.

Without warning, an image came to mind. Of a big blond man who resembled her son. Travis McLean. Randi stiffened. She’d actually pictured him sitting on the blanket with them!

“That’s great, son,” she said hastily, banishing the image as she rose to her feet. She reached for the pail and shovel. “Let’s see about that sand castle, okay?”

But as Matt followed her cheerfully to the wet sand near the water’s edge, McLean’s lean handsome face hovered at the fringes of her mind. Kneeling in the sand beside her son, she began digging with a spurt of energy meant to drive the image away. That, and something else. Something that felt suspiciously like guilt.

Don’t be silly,
she told herself as she molded the damp sand.
Matt can’t miss what he’s never had. As for McLean, what he doesn’t know isn’t hurting him, either.

Yet the argument in her head persisted. She told herself McLean’s actions precluded his right to know of the son he’d fathered. He’d
chosen
to donate his sperm,
chosen
to be an anonymous father, hadn’t he?

But far more disturbing was the question of whether it was right for
her
to choose to bring a fatherless child into the world. Unbidden, more questions came, try as she might to ignore them. Had she robbed her son of one of life’s inalienable rights? The right to have and know a father? Had she been selfish in doing what she’d done? Had she stolen from her own child’s future?

The sand castle was the largest, most elaborate structure built on the beach that day. Other children and their parents came to admire it, including the trio of redheads. Matt grinned at all the praise, even boasting to a man and his young daughter, “Me ‘n’ my mom’s the bestest team in the world for makin’ sand castles!”

And through it all Randi laughed and smiled, determined to shut out the doubts. Doubts that made her wonder if the happiness of one-parent families and sand castles didn’t have something in common.

Perhaps neither was built to last.

“H
ERE YOU ARE
, Mr. McLean.” The owner of the bedand-breakfast handed Travis a beach badge. “Go around the side porch and you’ll find a path leading straight to the beach.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Muncie,” Travis said with a smile for the elderly widow. He fastened the badge to his trunks, relishing the simple pleasure of having both hands free; the bullet wound was healing rapidly, and he’d discarded the sling. Waving to Mrs. Muncie, he slung a towel over his shoulder and headed for the beach.

With any luck, he’d find Randi and Matt Terhune on that beach. One of the things the Agency’s computer had turned up was the location of Ms. Terhune’s vacation spot. She’d rented a cottage on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, just a stone’s throw from Mrs. Muncie’s bed-and-breakfast. Through sheer luck, he’d called Mrs. Muncie just after she’d received a cancelation; he was now booked for the weekend and two weeks following. A stay that just happened to coincide with the remainder of Randi Terhune’s vacation.

The computer had turned up other information, too. Terhune and the kid lived in a quiet suburb near D.C., sharing a home—as he’d already learned—with her older sister. Their modest house was in a good neighborhood, served by a decent public-school system. It had been left to the sisters by the aunt who’d raised them; they were orphaned in their early teens.

Randi had a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in nursing,
and had twice graduated in the top ten percent of her class. She had an excellent work record, had advanced rapidly in her career.

So far, so good.

Then there was the fertility clinic in Cambridge, where she’d worked before having the kid. He’d learned it was still being operated by Dr. Philip Burgess, its founder. Posing as a journalist doing an article on such clinics, Travis had learned a few interesting facts. Facts that convinced him Randi Terhune had acted on her own unethical initiative if she’d availed herself of the clinic’s services.

Make that
when,
not
if,
he amended. Any uncertainties he’d had about whether she’d done so had all but vanished. The facts he’d assembled were just too overwhelming to amount to a coincidence. Yeah, she’d acted unethically, all right. According to Burgess, a stern no-nonsense New Englander, employees had always been barred from using the clinic themselves.

But Travis was deeply concerned about the final piece of info that had turned up about Matt’s mother: both she and her sister, Jill Terhune, had undergone years of psychological counseling when they were younger. He’d been unable to find out why, but the discovery jarred him. Just the thought of Matt being raised by two women who’d required extensive therapeutic counseling raised his hackles.

Cresting the dunes, Travis halted, his concerns thrust aside for the moment. The salty tang of the sea filled his lungs. Gulls screeched overhead, their cries vying with the rhythmic susurration of the waves. For several minutes he didn’t move. He simply drank in the panorama of sand and sea, of sunlight glinting on blue water.

Located north of Ocean City, the bed-and-breakfast and a handful of cottages enjoyed a stretch of shorefront relatively free of the crowds that packed the busier tourist spots. He noted a sprinkling of people in the water and
knots of sunbathers here and there. In between were mercifully vacant stretches of clean white sand.

He grinned, his mission forgotten for now. Dropping his towel, he flexed his arms, barely aware of the protest of unused muscles from his injured side. A black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off hid the waterproof bandage on his shoulder. Of course, water would likely find its way to the wound, anyway. And ol’ Doc Reston would howl if he could see him. But Travis didn’t give a damn. He was going for a swim!

T
RAVIS WALKED
along the beach at an easy pace, enjoying the sun on his body. The swim had felt good, but he’d kept it brief; he was well enough versed in medicine to know how far he should push his body in its present state. He’d take it slow, increasing the exercise by increments. By the time his leave was up, the gunshot wound would be history.

He was several hundred yards down the beach when he spotted the top of a flagpole just beyond the dunes. He’d seen the pole from the road and had carefully noted its location with regard to Mrs. Muncie’s. It belonged to Randi Terhune’s rental cottage.

Glancing around, he noted even fewer people on this section of beach. Maybe a dozen in all. A pair of family groups with young kids, a couple strolling at the water’s edge, holding hands….

Travis went absolutely still. His eyes fastened on a woman in a yellow bikini tossing a beach ball to a small boy in navy trunks: Randi Terhune…and Matt.

They were about twenty-five yards away. Intent on the ball, they hadn’t seen him. Travis couldn’t take his eyes off them, his gaze moving from mother to son, then back again.

Randi Terhune’s lithe sun-kissed body was as elegant as he remembered, and her honey blond hair was already streaked from the sun. Its shining length swung around her
lightly tanned shoulders as she moved; now and then the breeze lifted a yard-long tendril that rippled like silk.

Yet lovely though she was, it was the child that claimed Travis’s attention in the end. Matt’s sturdy body already held evidence of the long-boned height that was as much a McLean trait as the square jaw and springy blond curls. His legs pumped furiously as he went after the ball when a gust of wind carried it away.

“Got it!” the kid crowed as he pounced on the red-andyellow sphere. He cocked his head to one side and grinned at his mother.

Travis wanted to crow with him. His son. Oh, yeah, most definitely his son. Even the gestures mimicked his own. He had a snapshot of himself at that age, grinning, his head cocked in precisely that manner. His son. A walking talking image of himself in miniature. He swallowed thickly, overcome by an emotion so new he wasn’t certain, exactly, what it was, except that his heart seemed to somersault.

“Here y’go, Mom!” Matt’s clear soprano carried over the sound of the ocean as he threw the ball to his mother.

Randi made a dash for it as another gust of wind sent it toward the water. She reached the waterline and bent low to scoop it up just as a wave broke. This succeeded in thoroughly drenching her, and Matt laughed at the face she made.

“Good catch, Mom!” Matt was still laughing as he skirted a family group on a blanket and held out his arms. “Okay, put ‘er here!”

Travis watched the ball as it was lifted by the wind; it soared high over Matt’s head, eluding his outstretched arms by several feet and heading toward Travis’s right. Without thinking, Travis twisted, lunged and caught it. When he turned, he found himself looking into a small upturned face.

“Sorry, mister,” said the boy.

“No problem, son,” Travis returned with a grin.

Belatedly he realized how he’d addressed the child. Recovering
quickly, he glanced in Randi’s direction and saw, her stooping by a colorful beach blanket to get a towel. He chivied backward in the sand. “Here,” he said, gaining what he judged to be the right distance. He threw the ball and, sure enough, Matt caught it with ease. Travis watched the boy in proud wonder.

Matt quietly eyed the huge stranger with the friendly face. “My name’s Matt,” he said shyly:

Travis smiled and stuck out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Matt. Mine’s Travis.”

Matt stood still for a moment, then shifted the beach ball to one arm and slipped his small hand into his. That hesitant reaction to his outstretched hand made Travis wonder if the kid had ever been shown how to shake hands. Of course, it could just be he was shy, but that sure had looked like astonishment on his face. As if he’d never shaken hands before. Travis felt a ripple of annoyance. Didn’t his mother know a boy had to be taught these things?

“Wanna play catch with my mom ‘n’ me?” Matt asked.

Debating how to answer, Travis stared into the eager face of his son and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt that same nameless emotion he’d experienced when he’d heard Matt exclaim triumphantly about capturing the ball.

And he remembered feeling the way Matt looked right now…

Dad, would you play catch with me?

Sorry, Travis, but
I’m
late for a meeting at the hospital.

But you just got home, Dad!

I know, son, but these things can’t be helped Some other time, okay?

Sure, Dad…

The long-ago conversation faded, and he found himself staring into the poignantly hopeful eyes of Matt Terhune. “Sure thing, Matt,” he said, and positioned his hands to receive the ball.

“I can throw far-er than
that,”
Matt said scornfully.

“Uh, sorry,” Travis said, hiding a grin as he turned and increased the distance between them. “How’s this?” he asked as he spun back to the boy—and heard a gasp.

Randi Terhune was standing behind her son now and staring incredulously at Travis. Their eyes locked. A wealth of conflicting emotions passed between them as the parents of Matt Terhune took each other’s measure.

Travis was keenly aware of little things as he stood there, caught in the silent tableau: the feel of the sun-warmed ball in his hands, the sound of gulls in the distance, the hue of a woman’s eyes echoed in the wild-honey shades of her hair and skin, the scent of clean sweat and sunscreen lotion carried by the breeze.

And the wistful echo of a small boy’s voice as the child gazed at him with hopeful eyes.
Wanna play catch with my mom ‘n’ me?

God, yes, he wanted to! Wanted to with all the pent-up longing he remembered from his own childhood. A childhood that had left him perpetually hungry for a father’s love. For the father who was there, but not there. Who was too busy being a famous surgeon to remember he had a son who needed him.

Yes, he wanted to, but the unreadable look in Randi Terhune’s eyes stopped him. What was she thinking? he wondered. What should he say to her? That is, if he ought to say anything at all. The eyes she speared him with seemed as hard and brittle as the amber they resembled.

Randi made her face into a mask, hoping he couldn’t read the fear in her eyes. She was scared to death. Why had Travis McLean suddenly turned up here? There was no way it was a coincidence, so what did he want? Had he recognized her, after all? Put two and two together and come to stake a claim on Matt?
God, please, no…

Matt suddenly noticed her behind him. “Hey, Mom!” He turned and grinned at her, then indicated the man across
from them. “This is my friend Travis.” There was a note of proud ownership in his voice. “He’s gonna play catch with us.” He glanced at Travis, again with that hopeful look that turned Travis’s insides to mush. “Uh, y’will, won’tcha Travis?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Randi said hurriedly, “but there’s no time. We need to go in and change for supper.”

“But, Mom, it’s still sunshiny out!”

Randi hunkered down, meeting him at eye level. “I know, sweetheart,” she said gently, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “That’s because it doesn’t get dark until late now. But you’ll need a bath and time to change. We’re going to a restaurant to eat tonight, remember?”

“Yeah,” Matt mumbled, staring at his toes. The reply was as downhearted and reluctant a sound as Travis had ever heard.

“Now, thank the man for catching your ball and say goodbye,” Randi prompted.

“He’s not ‘the man,’“ Matt muttered. “He’s my friend Travis.”

Randi gritted her teeth and sent McLean a fulminating look. “Travis, then,” she said as she stood and urged Matt in the direction of the beach ball Travis proffered.

“Thanks, Travis,” Matt murmured unhappily. “I gotta go,” he added as if the blond giant hadn’t heard every word of the exchange with his mother.

“Maybe another time, Matt,” Travis returned with a smile he wasn’t feeling. The kid’s disappointment was almost palpable.

A flare of hope entered the child’s eyes. “Are you stayin’ here, too?” he asked, gesturing up the beach.

“Matthew…” Randi said warningly, effectively cutting off Travis’s reply.

“Bye, Travis,” Matt said with a forlorn sigh.

“Bye,” Travis said with a regretful smile.

The boy turned reluctantly and trudged toward the cottage.

Randi called to him to say she’d be along in a minute. Both adults were silent until Matt was beyond hearing, then Randi turned to Travis, eyes snapping. “Matt isn’t allowed to talk to strangers, mister—and you’re a stranger!”

“The hell I am!” Travis countered hotly. “You and I have met more than once,
Miz
Terhune—and that’s my
son!”

Randi blanched, too stricken to deny it; taking her reaction as the ultimate confirmation, Travis felt a surge of satisfaction.

“Mr. McLean,” she asked in a almost desperate whisper, “why are you here?”

Seeing the trapped look in her eyes, Travis immediately softened. “I don’t mean you or Matt any harm, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

Skepticism was written all over her. There was simply no way she could put a benign face on McLean’s appearance. Especially since he seemed well armed with the knowledge that Matt was his biological offspring.

“No?” she challenged, resisting the urge to bolt and run. To grab Matt and run with him, run so far McLean would never find them.

Travis heaved a sigh, aware that this was a poor time to discuss it; Matt was halfway to their cottage by now, and he didn’t like to think of the kid there alone, even for a few minutes. “Look,” he said, “this isn’t the time or place. But I’m stayin’ nearby. If you’ll agree to meet with me—without Matt in tow, naturally—I’ll tell you what this is all about. Would that be agreeable?”

Randi was silent while she pondered this. She found herself staring at his black T-shirt; with the sleeves ripped off, it revealed powerful biceps. In fact, everything about him was powerful; she resisted the urge to step back a pace. Travis McLean was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Their encounter at the hospital had told her that much. He was as relentless as a jungle cat stalking its prey.