His Daddy's Eyes Page 7

  Bo began walking but stopped. “Have you asked yourself what you’d do with Brady if Eve dropped out of the picture? I mean, Sara’s a terrific single mother. Do you think you could do that well?”

  Ren had wondered the same thing, and he wasn’t nearly as confident as he wanted to be. “I don’t know, but I had a great role model growing up, right?”

  Bo’s attitude softened and he smiled. “Yep, that’s true. They don’t come much better than Larry.”

  Ren’s father had taken Bo under his wing at a critical time in Bo’s life. If not for Larry’s intervention, Bo might never have kicked the booze.

  The two walked in silence until they reached the entrance of the bookstore, where a circular emblem two feet in diameter and inlaid with mosaic tiles in the shape of an open book was imbedded in the sidewalk. Ren hadn’t noticed it before. “I like that.”

  “Sara had it put in. She thought it would be a way to lure people. She said most people walk with their heads down, and they don’t see the sign overhead unless they’re looking for a bookstore. The mosaic catches their attention and makes them look up.”

  Before Ren could comment, Bo yanked open the door and marched inside. “Lucy, I’m home,” he called in a pathetic imitation of Ricky Ricardo.

  Ren squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Best-case scenario, he told himself, she won’t call the police and have me arrested. Worst-case? Years of litigation, family profiles, home studies, lawyers, judges, he thought, sighing. But in all honesty, he couldn’t blame Sara. Any good mother would go to great lengths to protect her child.

  THE TINKLE OF THE BELL over the door seemed to set off a frenzy of activity—an anthill gone mad, Ren thought as he stepped inside. Claudie and three strangers, two men and a large, colorfully dressed black woman, were moving chairs, tables and display racks to one spot, then picking them up and moving again. In the center of this chaos stood Sara, Brady in her arms.

  At least, Ren thought it was Sara, although she certainly looked different. Instead of a shapeless dress, she wore a fitted suit of silver-green with a white silk blouse, shimmering hose and black pumps. Her hair was pulled back by a woven metallic band that emphasized her high cheekbones and arched brows.

  “Hi, Bo,” she called, glancing over her shoulder. She acknowledged Ren with an extra widening of her eyes, but turned away when Claudie called her name.

  “Where do you want this one, Sara J?”

  “Over there.” Sara pointed to the far wall, below a poster that read, Read Now, Before You Forget How.

  “What’s going on?” Bo asked, walking to her side. Ren followed, unable to keep from cataloguing the changes he saw in her. Instead of soft and demure, this was a woman who knew what she wanted and had no trouble voicing her demands.

  “Move the table a little more to the left,” she ordered a harried-looking gray-haired man. “The gal who called said the more spacious a place looks, the more inviting it is. We want to invite people here.”

  When the change was made to her apparent satisfaction, she turned to Bo and Ren. “Isn’t this exciting? The camera crew should be here any minute.”

  Her breathless, flushed excitement made her look younger. Her enthusiasm lifted Ren’s spirits, making him want to grin, even though this wasn’t at all what he’d expected to find. “What camera crew?”

  “Channel Eight News. They’re doing a feature on downtown businesses.” Her cheeks bloomed with color. “I told Claudie we’ll be lucky to get a sound bite—but every bite helps.”

  Ren’s stomach turned over. “Channel Eight, huh.”

  She shifted Brady to her other hip. “Eve Masterson herself. It’s so exciting.”

  Ren and Bo exchanged looks. Exciting was not Ren’s first choice of adjective.

  “Hi, Brady,” Ren said, smiling at the little boy who promptly buried his face in his mother’s shoulder.

  “Don’t be shy, honey,” Sara coaxed. “Can you say hello?”

  Brady shook his head. His hair was lighter than Ren’s and held a faint tinge of red, but the springy waves seemed so familiar that Ren almost reached out to touch them. Before he could, however, Brady squirmed to be let down. When Sara bent over to set the little boy on his feet, Ren couldn’t help noticing the way her skirt outlined her shape.

  “How’s that?” Claudie asked, flashing a critical look from Bo to Ren. She handed Sara something, then pointed to the wall behind the coffee bar where a slightly lopsided banner was hanging.

  “Wonderful,” Sara exclaimed. “Is that the last of the reading posters?”

  Claudie rolled her eyes. “Lord, I hope so.”

  Sara gave her a light cuff on the shoulder, then sent her off in another direction. To Ren, she said, “Are you here for moral support?”

  He didn’t understand the question, but before he could ask, she was called to deal with another crisis. Over her shoulder she called, “You’re welcome to browse, of course, but we’re closing down the register until after the interview.”

  “Actually…” Ren stopped when he felt a warm little body attach itself to his right leg. Smiling, he looked down. Brady had wrapped both arms around Ren’s thigh like a monkey. He squeezed his arms tight, making a sort of grunting sound.

  Ren’s laugh was aborted by a low bark of agony that stopped everyone mid-stride. “Argh…” He reached for his leg just as the little boy jumped back, a satisfied smirk on his face. “He bit me!”

  No one moved for a full five seconds, then Sara leapt between Ren and Brady as if separating two prizefighters. “Brady,” she cried, dropping to one knee. “Did you bite?”

  The little boy’s face immediately registered his mother’s distress. Instant tears appeared at the rims of his Delft-blue eyes. His bottom lip unfurled like a flower petal. Before she could reach for him, Brady darted away and crawled under her desk.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, rising. “He’s never done that before. I can’t…” She shook her head.

  Ren rubbed the throbbing spot on his thigh. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, but a dozen thoughts clamored for attention. Does he hate me already? Do I really want to be a father?

  Sara lightly touched his sleeve, then dashed after Brady. “He’s had all his shots,” she called before ducking behind the desk.

  Ren looked at the other spectators. The older man picked up a Raiders cap from the counter and headed for the door. “Guess you don’t need me no more, Sara. See you Wednesday. ’Bye, Bo.”

  “See ya, Frank,” Bo called, as the man left.

  A tall, good-looking man in a white shirt rolled down his sleeves and lifted his suit coat from a chair. “Sara, love, I’m leaving, too, but I’ll stop by after work to watch you on TV, okay?”

  Sara’s head popped up above the desk. “Great, Daniel. Thanks so much for everything. See ya tonight.”

  Ren exchanged nods with the man as he left.

  Claudie finished straightening a display, then walked to Ren. “I’d be happy to check out that bite for you if you want to take off your pants.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  “Honey, you are fine,” the large black woman said, pushing Claudie aside. “My name’s Keneesha. I’d give you one of my business cards but I’m out right now.”

  “Better not,” Bo said, giving the woman a dry look. “The man’s a judge.”

  She eyed Ren skeptically before turning to Bo. “Cookbook man, what are you doing here?” Keneesha asked.

  “I asked him to come,” Sara said, joining the little group. Brady was plastered to her, his head pressed against her chest. “Remember? I wanted some of the readers to be here in case Miss Masterson had time to interview any of the Unturned Gentlemen.”

  By the look of horror on Bo’s face, Ren felt it safe to assume Bo had forgotten about that little detail.

  “And Claudie, you could talk about the books you’ve been reading to prepare for the equivalency test,” Sara told her.

  “Oh, no. In fact, I ju
st remembered something I gotta do right this minute. What about you, Kee? You wanna be on television?”

  Keneesha’s eyes grew big. “F—Forget that action. I’m outa here.”

  Sara’s face fell. “Come on, don’t go. I need you. I can’t face that woman alone. Claudie…”

  Ren turned to watch both women scurry through the door. He realized at the same instant that Bo had disappeared, as well.

  Sara looked momentarily dismayed, then sighed and hugged Brady. “Oh, well, we can do this, can’t we?” she whispered softly. “But first we have to apologize to Mr. Bishop.” She looked at Ren, as if to confirm his name.

  Ren couldn’t help smiling. She looked so earnest, so fresh and real. “Please, call me Ren. You, too, Brady, even though we haven’t been formally introduced.”

  He tried to keep his tone light, but could tell she was embarrassed. She stepped closer and turned so Brady’s face was visible. The child immediately turned his head the other way. She bent her head and said in a low voice, “Brady, you need to apologize. We don’t bite. Ever. You hurt Ren and you need to say you’re sorry.”

  The boy turned his head and looked at Ren. The child’s blue eyes—a dark, almost sapphire color—were luminescent with tears. He blinked twice and rattled off a string of gibberish made more unintelligible by the wet fist he kept in his mouth.

  As the long explanation continued, Ren looked from Brady to Sara—her heart plainly on view as she watched the little boy’s animated apology. Sara wiped her son’s tears and kissed the top of his head.

  “Very nice, love,” she said. “You’re a very brave boy to admit when you made a mistake,” she told him, then looked to Ren. “I don’t suppose you got that.” He shook his head, mesmerized by the connection he saw and felt between the two. “Brady said he was sorry. Your pants are nice but they don’t taste good.”

  She smiled. “I think he wanted to touch your pants and just got carried away. I’m very sorry. We both are.”

  She might have said more, but at that moment the door opened and a battering ram of mobile news equipment surged inward. At the hub of the onslaught stood Eve, who scanned the interior in a three-second sweep before focusing on Ren and Sara.

  Eve’s beautiful face, an exotic combination of Mediterranean skin tone, English cheekbones and Indo-European eyes, lit up with surprise and pleasure. “Ren,” she cried, pushing past her colleagues. “What are you doing here? Did you call and get my schedule from Gloria?” Gloria was her secretary, with whom Ren spoke quite regularly—too regularly.

  She gave him a brief squeeze, being careful not to mess her makeup. Her trademark waist-length blue-black hair shimmered beneath the high, overhead spotlights. “Actually,” he said, drawing her to one side just as a young man with an armful of electrical cords bounced by, “I came with Bo, who, it appears, has developed sudden-onset stage fright.”

  The noise in Ren’s head had little to do with the chaos Eve and her crew had brought to the bookstore. His instinct was to take the coward’s way out, just as his ex-best friend had. “Um, Eve, have you met Sara Carsten?” he asked, taking a step back. “She’s the owner of this fine establishment. The person you’re here to interview.”

  “Hi,” Sara said. “This is my son, Brady.” Brady perked up with all the activity and looked around like a turtle poking his head out of a shell. “I’m afraid my baby-sitters have all disappeared. I…um…”

  “No problem,” Ren said, seeing his chance to melt into the background. “I’ll take care of him.”

  He snatched Brady out of Sara’s arms before she could protest. Brady looked too surprised to cry. “Don’t worry, big guy. No hard feelings. Let’s play.”

  One quick look over his shoulder as he walked to the carpeted children’s area told him both women were speechless. But Ren doubted he could count on that kind of luck for long.

  SARA DECIDED if anyone asked her what it was like to be interviewed by Eve Masterson, she could sum it up in one word: smooth. Watching a professional as experienced and polished as Eve was like watching a surgeon at work.

  Sara had no trouble answering Eve’s questions, except when they turned personal. When Eve asked her something about Brady’s father, Sara deflected the query without thinking. She’d answered enough probing questions after Julia’s accident, when reporters were trying to make more out of the story than was there. “I’m a single parent,” Sara said, nervously manipulating the small tube of glue Claudie had handed her.

  Eve nodded, her long black hair moving like an exotic animal. “It must be quite difficult raising your son alone while running a business. How do you do it?”

  Sara wondered if she detected a hint of condescension in the woman’s tone, but for some reason Eve’s attention had shifted toward the reading area, a pensive look crossing her brow. “Nothing in life is easy,” Sara answered. “I’m lucky because I can keep my son with me while I work, and he’s exposed to something I love—books. I read to him and patrons’ children whenever I can.”

  Eve’s eyes were the darkest brown Sara had ever seen. On television she was beautiful; up close, China-doll perfect. When Eve gestured toward the coffee bar, Sara spotted a very large, glittery diamond on her finger, which jogged Sara’s memory. Something about a judge.

  Eve Masterson and Judge Lawrence Bishop. Of course.

  Sara’s small, involuntary peep made Eve look at her intently. “Let’s cut, fellas. I’ve got plenty here,” she said, reaching behind her waist to remove some kind of remote microphone. Her tailored suit, a smart black gabardine imbued with tiny flecks of silver, would have looked severe on anyone else.

  To Sara, she said, “Thank you. That was very nice. I’m particularly impressed with your reading groups. You have that in common with my fiancé.” She glanced toward the play area where Ren and Brady sat. “Ren started a tutorial program in juvenile hall last year.”

  Her words confirmed what Sara had already guessed, making her feel all the more foolish about the steamy dream she’d had last night. Sara had tried to blame it on the Braveheart video she’d fallen asleep watching. Somehow her dream lover had changed from Mel Gibson into Ren Bishop.

  “How well do you know Ren?” Eve asked, her reporter instincts undoubtedly making her home in on Sara’s attraction to Eve’s fiancé.

  Sara started to set the woman straight, but a rather vivid image from her dream made Sara stutter, “We don’t—he just—I…” Her cheeks turned hot.

  Eve’s focus moved to Ren, who sat cross-legged with Brady in his lap, their heads bent over a big, colorful book. “He looks pretty cozy with your son.”

  He does, doesn’t he, Sara thought, flinching from the twinge in her chest. To Eve, she said candidly, “That’s probably because Brady bit him. Must be a guy thing.”

  As if sensing their observation, Ren looked up. Oddly, his gaze went to Sara first. His smile seemed ingenuous and a little worried. Sara’s heart reacted in the strangest way, making her clasp the tube of glue to her breast defensively.

  Eve started toward him but was waylaid by a tall man in a turban of dreadlocks. “Sorry, Eve, but we gotta run if you want this by six,” he said, taking her arm.

  Eve seemed torn. With a sigh, she called to Ren, “My place? Tonight?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  She blew him an air kiss then dashed away. “Thank you, Sara. It was…enlightening.”

  Bemused, Sara watched the door close. “Enlightening?” she repeated to herself, slipping the glue stick into the pocket of her jacket. Before she could decide whether to ask Ren what his fiancée had meant, the bell over the door tinkled. Three people strolled in, trying to look nonchalant. Only Keneesha managed to pull it off. She parked her rather large bottom on the corner of Sara’s desk and said, “How’d it go?”

  Bo and Claudie mumbled some kind of apology as they walked past Sara.

  Sara put her hands on her hips and made a clucking sound. “Cowards,” she teased. “I don’t know what I’d have done i
f Ren hadn’t entertained Brady.” She shuddered in mock horror.

  They stumbled over each other’s excuses and apologies until Ren interrupted them. “If you’re back for good, I’d like to borrow Sara a moment.”

  He passed Brady—who seemed totally at ease in Ren’s arms—to Keneesha, then looked at Bo and asked, “Can the three of you manage the store for a few minutes?”

  The seriousness of his tone made Sara’s stomach turn over. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” Dire thoughts of lawsuits and legal horrors filled her head. Her panic must have shown on her face, because Bo leaned over and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay, Sara. You can trust him.”

  That oblique endorsement puzzled her so much that Sara almost missed the fact Ren had taken her elbow and was escorting her toward the exit. When he let go to open the door, she balked. “Wait. This is crazy. I barely know you. Where are you taking me? I don’t care what you do for a living—you can’t just kidnap a person.”

  He tilted his head in a gentle, reassuring way. “I’ll explain everything in a minute. I just don’t want an audience.”

  Behind her, Sara heard Bo placating Claudie and Keneesha, who sounded poised for pursuit. “Stay calm, ladies. He won’t hurt her.”

  With a quick glance over her shoulder, Sara made up her mind. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket to keep them from trembling. “Okay,” she said, walking past him. “But I’m warning you—I have pepper spray.” She thrust the tube of glue against the silk fabric of her jacket pocket.

  He closed the door carefully. “Really?” His brows scrunched together in a judge-like manner that pumped endorphins into Sara’s system. “Can I see it?”

  Her mouth went dry. “No.”

  “You know it’s against the law to carry a concealed weapon. You’d be better off cooperating.” His tone sounded teasing, but his words took her back to one of the bleakest moments of her life. The officer who’d arrested her had said the same thing, and, being young and naive, she’d believed him.