He should have been a stranger, but he seemed so familiar.
That’s because you look at a baby version of his face every day.
“Cal,” she whispered.
“Christie,” he replied, his face tight. An angry red scar cut across his temple, between his eye and his hairline. “What’s going on?”
“Lunch,” she said, motioning to the other side of the booth.
He sat down, stiff and distrustful, and eyed Peter as if he’d never seen a baby before.
“Cal, this is Peter,” she said, and the baby turned his head toward her and grinned when he heard his name. “He’s—”
“Here’s your hot water,” the waitress said, “and your tea.” She set both on the table. “Oh, hi, Cal. Welcome home. What can I get for you?”
He looked as if he were trying to force a smile for the waitress, but the gesture came out more of a grimace. He must really be upset.
“Iced tea, please, Twila,” he said, then added as soon as the girl left, “and maybe I should have a beer or a shot. What do you think, Christie? Do I need a drink?”
“I don’t know, Cal,” she replied, getting a bit irritated. “I suppose that depends on how well you take the news that you’re a father.”
Chapter Two
Christie hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but he’d acted so…sarcastic. Sure, this was a surprise, but he didn’t have to imply he needed to be drunk before finding out he was a father.
Now he was slightly pale, making the scar on his temple stand out even more. He stared at Peter, and the baby stared back, so she took the opportunity to mix the powdered formula with the warm water the waitress brought for his bottle.
Finally, she got the temperature of the formula right and glanced up. Cal was now staring at her. “You aren’t breastfeeding.”
“No, I couldn’t. I tried, but it doesn’t always work out.”
He looked at her as if it were her fault her milk hadn’t come in. Fine. What did he know about babies, anyway? He might know a lot about calves, but Peter didn’t have four legs, and she didn’t have an udder, and Cal wasn’t going to make her feel as if she were less of a mother because she couldn’t nurse her son.
“You’re sure he’s mine?” Cal asked.
“Oh, that’s a typical male question,” she said, popping the nipple into Peter’s mouth. “Of course I’m sure he’s yours. We can have a paternity test at any time, although I think that by looking, you can see who he resembles.”
“What happened to ‘I can’t have children’?”
“Obviously, the doctor I saw in Europe was wrong. Or maybe he told me I couldn’t have children because of my husband. I don’t know! His English was terrible and I don’t speak Italian. At the time, all I knew was that I would never be a mother.”
“Not the case,” he mumbled.
“No, and despite your obvious opinion of the situation, I’m thrilled to have Peter.”
“Would that be Calvin Peter Crawford V?”
“No, that would be Peter Simmons Crawford. I took the liberty of giving him your last name and listing you as the father on the birth certificate, although if you don’t want to be a part of his life, his last name can always be changed. He’s too young to know the difference, and quite frankly, I don’t need child support and Peter doesn’t need the influence of a reluctant father.”
Cal stared intently at the baby as Peter took his bottle, sitting up in the high chair as he now preferred. Gone were the days when he automatically snuggled into her arms and let her feed him. Now he was all about independence. In a few more months, she suspected he’d begin saying, “No, I’ll do it myself!”
“He might not know the difference, but I do. I’ll know. I’ll know I missed seeing the first months of my son’s life. Missed naming him after my father and grandfathers. So he’s what, nine months old?”
“Nine months last Wednesday.” She took a deep breath. “And even if you’d known about him, you still would have been away. They don’t give a leave because you discover you’re going to be a father.” She knew because she’d checked.
“No, but I could have seen his pictures. I could have done…something.”
“I took tons of photos. I have them all for you, including the ultrasounds.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Christie? Write me a letter, an e-mail, or call the ranch?”
“I did call the ranch, but I wasn’t about to tell your brother or Raven before I told you. Frankly, I didn’t think it was any of their business. I wanted to tell you in person. I didn’t think this was something you should find out in a letter or e-mail when you were thousands of miles away.”
Cal sat there even after the waitress brought his iced tea and Christie told her they’d order in a few minutes. He sat and watched Peter struggle to hold his bottle, then hurl it across the table when he didn’t get it tilted at the right angle to get the formula out. Christie handed the bottle back to her son, and soon he found the right angle and began to suck greedily.
When Peter was just about finished, he hurled the bottle in Cal’s direction again. Cal caught it, and when he looked back at Peter, the baby was grinning. He banged his little fists on the table and looked so adorable that Cal smiled back. They stared at each other, and Christie’s heart skipped a beat.
She wished she had her camera. She wished she’d thought to document father meeting child.
“I have a son,” Cal said softly.
“Yes, you do.”
And to complete the moment, Peter squealed and threw a Cheerio at Cal.
“HAVE YOU BEEN TO THE RANCH?” Cal asked after they’d ordered lunch.
“I drove out there, but you didn’t appear to be home yet, so I didn’t go to the door. The animals are wonderful, though.”
Cal snorted. She was such a city girl, thinking animals were “wonderful.” She probably didn’t know a dairy cow from beef on the hoof.
“Where are you staying?”
“In Graham, for now, but I’ll be moving to Brody’s Crossing.”
“Why? Don’t you live and work in Fort Worth?”
“I quit my job a few months before Peter was born, and, yes, I still have my place in Fort Worth.”
“So you mentioned you don’t need my child support. This might sound a little rude, but how are you getting by?”
She sighed and wiped a little milk from the baby’s mouth. His baby. Peter.
This
