The Surprise of His Life (14 page)

Walker
peered through the nursery window at the baby bundled in the fleecy-soft
blanket. Blond hair the color of honey sculpted the infant's head, while eyes
as blue as a Texas sky lit the baby's angelic face. The child also had a teeny
mouth into which it was trying to wedge a teeny fist. Suckling, slobbering,
then suckling again, the baby obviously concluded that there was no nourishment
in the clenched hand. This realization produced a whimper, which was closely
followed by a cry. Then, as though he decided it wasn't worth the effort, the
crying died back down to a whimper. At the same time, eyelids closed so that
the sandman could come acalling.

Love,
deep and unqualified, filled Walker's chest until he felt he must surely burst
from the precious pressure. This was his grandson. Flesh of his flesh. Child of
his child. He had loved his son the moment he'd seen him twenty-four years ago,
but the love he felt now was different. Not any greater, not any less, just
different. Perhaps it was love factored with maturity, hopefully with even a little
wisdom. Whatever, it was a love that said you belong to your parents, but you
also belong to me—in a very special way because I'm now old enough to know the
value of love, old enough never to take it for granted.

"What
do you think?" a voice, reverently hushed to befit the occasion, asked.

Walker
turned, his eyes meeting those of his son. Tall and lithe, Adam Carr had his
father's nut-brown eyes and his mother's blond hair. Blond hair. It crossed
Walker's mind that although Adam and Lindsey had blond hair, they were totally
dissimilar shades. Adam's was ash blond, while Lindsey's hair reminded Walker
of homespun threads of gold. Even so, there was similarity enough that Adam and
Lindsey could have been brother and sister.

That
fact reminded Walker that he was old enough to be Lindsey's father. He
immediately shelved the thought, along with memories of the drive from
Galveston to Houston. It had been a long drive, which had had nothing to do
with mileage and everything to do with soft laughter, billows of golden-blond
hair and glossy pink lips. Thank heaven that Lindsey had chosen to visit Grace
before seeing the baby. It had given him a moment to breathe again... and to
convince himself that he truly wasn't losing his mind and that he wasn't
harboring unnatural, even immoral, feelings. Somehow or other, he'd just
stepped into a surreal world for the past few days. It probably had something
to do with the stress he'd been under. Yeah, that was it. He'd just been under
stress.

"He's
perfect," Walker said, slipping his arm around Adam's shoulders and
luxuriating in the reality of his son. There were no surreal imaginings here.
Adam was real. And so was this newborn child.

"Yeah,"
Adam agreed in awe as he stared down at the sleeping infant. "He's so
little, though."

"Babies
are supposed to be little, although eight pounds, eight ounces isn't all that
little. In fact, he weighs a pound more than you did."

"He's
bigger than I was?"

Walker
nodded. Adam looked as though he'd accomplished something of paramount importance—producing
a son who weighed a pound more at birth than he had.

"Yeah,
I guess he isn't all that small," Adam said, adding, "What do you
think? Tackle or linebacker?"

Walker
laughed. "He'll be tough enough and rough enough to be either... if we can
just keep him from sucking on his fist."

Adam
grinned. "He stays hungry."

"So
did you. If I remember correctly, you can still pack it away pretty good."

Adam's
grin turned to soft laughter. "Yeah, I guess I can." The grin faded
slowly, replaced by a dead earnestness as the young man looked over at his
father. "The baby's great and all... and I'm excited... but, I don't know,
the whole thing's kinda scary, too. I, uh, I wasn't expecting to be scared, but
I am... I mean, being responsible for another human being is scary." He
shrugged his shoulders. "They don't pass out instruction booklets with
babies. At least they didn't with this one. How the heck are you supposed to
know what to do?" Adam grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'm asking just how
easy babies are to break and am I supposed to feel scared?"

Walker
tightened the arm still thrown across Adam's shoulder. "Babies are tougher
than they look and hell, yeah, you're supposed to be afraid. You can't make a
decent parent unless you're scared spitless about ninety percent of the time.
But you'll learn to handle the fear. You'll learn to put it on the back burner.
Plus, you'll have Grace to share it with. That'll make it tolerable."

"You
didn't have anyone, did you?" Adam asked.

Walker
withdrew his hand from Adam's shoulder and shoved it into the pocket of his
khaki pants. He had changed into clean clothes as Lindsey had awaited him in
the living room of his house. He'd felt odd undressing with her there. It made
no sense, but then again neither did much else in his surreal world.

"I
did in the beginning," Walker said. "Your mom was there when you were
a baby. By the time it was just you and me, you were too old for me to
break."

"But
still, it couldn't have been easy."

"No,"
Walker said, once more feeling an emotional weight shackle his ankle as he
recalled the solitary years of rearing his son, "it wasn't easy. Raising a
teenage boy alone isn't easy. Not when you've got to make a living, too."

"I
didn't cut you much slack, either, did I?" Walker grinned. "You
weren't supposed to. You were just a kid."

Adam
looked back at the baby. "I, uh, I hope I can do as good a job as you
did." The young man looked up at his father. "I mean that. You
haven't made too bad a father."

A
knot formed in Walker's throat, though he grinned to downplay the moment's
emotional intensity. "You haven't made too bad a son. And you'll make a
great father."

"I
guess we'll see, won't we?" Adam said. He then added, "You, uh, you
haven't asked what we named him."

"I
thought you were going to name the baby Stephen if it was a boy."

"Yeah,
we did. We named him Stephen—Stephen Walker Carr."

There
had been few times in Walker's life when he'd been moved to speechlessness. Now
was one such time. He honestly didn't know what to say and feared that he
wouldn't have been able to say it even if he'd known the right words. The knot
that had been in his throat before had doubled in size.

"I,
uh, I don't know what to say," Walker finally managed to get out.

"You
don't have to say anything."

But
he did. Walker knew that he had to say something. Why was it so hard for men to
verbally express their feelings? In the end, however, he said nothing. He
simply reached for his son and unabashedly hugged him. Adam hugged him back. As
comfortable as the men were with the exhibition of affection—hugs had been
commonplace in the Carr household—enough sentimentality was enough. Especially
in a public place.

"I'm
glad you brought Lindsey with you," Adam said, as eager to lighten the
mood as was his father. "It's good to see her again."

Walker
mumbled some response. He refrained from saying that he'd actually had little
choice in the matter, that Lindsey had invited herself along. Neither did he go
into the fact that he both loved and hated being near her. More to the point,
he felt like a man walking a very high tightrope when he was around her. He
felt exhilarated and scared half out of his mind. But mostly, he just felt
confused.

"She
looks great, doesn't she?"

Walker
groaned inwardly. If one other person asked his opinion of how Lindsey looked,
he was going to scream. Loudly. The truth was that she looked sensational. Even
better than sensational. Which he was trying real hard to ignore. Not that he
was doing anywhere near that. In fact, the opposite seemed to be true.

"Yeah,
she looks great," Walker mumbled, the memory of Lindsey coiled in the
corner of the car swamping him. Her long legs, encased in the white slacks
she'd arrived at the office in, had curled under her in a cozy kind of fashion
that had emphasized their length and sleekness. The sweater, in pretty pink,
had lovingly hugged her breasts, while her pink-tipped toes had teased his
masculine senses.

"How's
she taking the divorce?"

"About
like you'd expect."

"Having
your parents separate after all these years must be a real bummer."

"Yeah."

"Lindsey
doesn't strike me as the type to sit around and do nothing," Adam said. He
smiled. "Remember how she could never stand to see the kids fight?
Remember how she always tried to act as mediator?"

Walker
thought of the dinner Lindsey had tricked her parents into. He thought, too, of
how Lindsey had always been a serious child, a sensitive child. Yes, she was
capable of great caring. Maybe too capable. One had to learn when to care and
when to save one's own soul, rather than give it away piece by piece.

"Yeah,
well," Walker said, "I'm afraid she's setting herself up to be hurt
this time." Before he even knew what he was saying, he heard himself ask,
"Did she ever tell you why she called off the wedding?"

Adam
shook his head. "No. But then she left for London so quickly that we
didn't even have a chance to talk. I got a couple of cards from her. On one she
just said that she was sorry for the pain she knew she'd caused Ken. That was
all."

Disappointment
filled Walker. He'd always wondered what had happened, but he seemed to be
wondering more of late.

"It
had to be something pretty serious," Adam continued. "She wouldn't
have hurt Ken otherwise."

Walker
agreed. He'd once seen her cry because she'd dropped a teddy bear. Lindsey, who
couldn't have been more than five or six at the time, had explained that teddy
bears had feelings, too, and that they cried when they were hurt, but that they
didn't cry in front of just anyone. They cried only in front of special people.
Walker hadn't had to ask if they cried in front of her. He'd known that they
did.

Suddenly,
with a certainty he in no way questioned, Walker sensed Lindsey's presence. He
glanced up to see her walking down the hospital corridor. He felt her bright
sun warm the cold lonely night that had become his heart. In that moment, he
was glad that she'd come along. As confused as her presence made him, he was
glad.

"Let
me see the baby of all babies," she said, her face wreathed in a dazzling
smile. "Oh, my," she whispered, looking through the glass at the
sleeping infant.

For
seconds, she said nothing. Her palms pressed against the glass, she just
stared. Walker couldn't have taken his eyes off her under penalty of death. She
was absolutely glowing as she watched the silent, still baby.

"Oh,
Adam, he's beautiful," she said in a voice so soft that it sounded like
the patter of snowflakes. "Look at his little hands. And look at his hair.
He has your hair. And your nose. He has your nose."

Once
more, Walker heard her enthusiasm building to a youthful level. He hoped,
though, that she never outgrew that enthusiasm. It was what made her so
special. It, and her sensitivity, was what made teddy bears cry in front of
her.

"Do
you ever wish you could start over? Do you ever wish you could have another
child?"

Walker
heard the question she'd once before asked him. He'd answered an unequivocal
no. Yet as he watched the way she devoured the sight of the baby, he felt a strange
tugging at his heart. It was obvious that Lindsey wanted a baby. It was equally
obvious that she'd make a wonderful mother.

"Oh,
Walker," she said, and the calling of his name sent a strange feeling down
his spine, "you have a gorgeous grandson."

Grandson.

Grandfather.

Interestingly,
the word
grandfather
ensnared his attention as the word
grandson
had
not. Grandfather sounded so old. It conjured up images of stuffy men, crotchety
men set in both their chairs and their ways. Hell, there was no denying it! He
was
old. His hair was turning gray, he couldn't read without his glasses and
his knee ached with a vengeance unless he pampered it, in which case it ached
with only half a vengeance. And that wasn't the worst of it. He thought old.

Except
when he was around Lindsey.

She
honestly made him want to run off to Timbuktu. She honestly made him feel less
than old. Or, maybe she just made him feel that forty-seven wasn't quite as old
as he thought it was. The truth was that she even made him think that maybe
starting over with a baby wasn't all that ridiculous. He could see it
now—diapers, feedings, sleepless nights—none of which would seem too
intimidating if there was someone there to share it with. The someone began to
take shape in his imagination. She had long blond hair, steel-blue eyes and a
smile that melted away the loneliness he'd felt for so many years. The woman by
his side was...

Lindsey.

The
realization startled him. But it did more than that. It appalled him.
Principally because it didn't appall him enough.