A Mother's Claim. Janice Kay Johnson
him? Would he come straight here, or was he so reluctant to meet her he’d dawdle as long as he could?
She pressed a hand to her stomach, churning enough that she was grateful she hadn’t eaten lunch.
How petty would Nolan Gregor be?
Picturing the man who went with the deep voice didn’t do anything to calm her. His sheer size had intimidated her. At five foot ten, she was tall for a woman. Her father and brother were well over six feet; Craig was, too. But they all had long, lanky builds. In contrast, Nolan Gregor’s shoulders would fill a doorway. His chest was broad, his legs powerful. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking he’d be lumbering and slow, like a football linebacker. In fact, instinct insisted she keep distance between them to give herself time to react, because she somehow knew if he did move, he’d be lightning fast. Remembering his mention of a military career, she wondered exactly what he’d done to develop that kind of muscle.
It didn’t help that his face was...well, not handsome, exactly, but appealing, with prominent bones and a square jaw. Vivid blue eyes were a surprise considering his shaggy dark hair and dark stubble. She’d disconcerted herself by noticing his mouth and feeling a flicker of warmth she hardly recognized.
No, no, no. The man mattered only because he was her adversary at the very least. She couldn’t afford to soften toward him in any way at all.
She closed her eyes, dismissing him as she refocused on what mattered: Gabriel. A few deep breaths almost calmed her. It would take her five minutes to lock her room and make her way to the windsurfing shop next door.
She left her handbag this time, tucking her key in her pocket. She walked with a deliberate speed, forcing herself to exchange a pleasant smile with a couple in the elevator and then the desk clerk. Out the door, turn left and follow the path across the lawn.
Bright sails bloomed on the broad Columbia River. It took her a moment to see that while some were on boats, most sent single figures in wet suits skimming the choppy water on boards.
More deep breaths, and Dana resumed her walk. When she saw the bike leaning against the side of the driftwood-gray clapboard building, her heart leaped, the beats so light and fast she imagined herself flying across the water.
He’s here.
Suddenly shaking, she literally ached, the hunger to feel her baby in her arms almost unbearable.
She wasn’t thirty feet from the door. It seemed impossible, unreal, that this was happening, that he was so close. Alive. Good at math, athletic. Every dream that had sustained her for all these years was about to come true.
What she had somehow never imagined was what would happen after that magical moment when she first set eyes on him, wrapped him in her arms. In her dreams, he always said, “Mom?” in a voice of wonder. Instead, during their call he’d been angry, shouting, “I have a mom!” In her fantasies, he never refused to believe the woman he’d called Mother had stolen him from his real mother.
Her mood shifting abruptly, she almost laughed. She had her miracle, and she was standing out here, terrified and despairing in advance?
So it wouldn’t be as easy as she’d imagined. Of course it wouldn’t. He wasn’t the baby she remembered; he didn’t remember her at all. He was a whole person, shaped by strangers, including a mentally ill woman who’d claimed to be his mother. She ought to be grateful to Nolan, who had apparently given him stability and a home.
Ultimately, however hostile he was now, he would have to work with her. She’d give him time, and he would recognize how little choice he had.
Dana started forward again, feeling buoyed, lighthearted, as bright as all those sails.
He’s here.
* * *
“WHY DO I have to see her?” Christian whined, even though he knew the answer. Because this woman was his actual, real mother.
Even thinking that made him feel disloyal.
Uncle Nolan didn’t bother to answer. “Brace yourself,” he said instead. “She’ll be here any second.”
Uncle Nolan said she’d come by earlier and that she looked like Christian, which freaked him out. It was like if he couldn’t see any resemblance, he didn’t have to believe any of this was true.
The bell on the door tinkled, and his fingers bit into his palms.
Uncle Nolan’s gaze went past Christian, but his expression didn’t change. He had on what Christian thought of as his soldier face, emotionless, hard to read.
“Ms. Stewart,” Uncle Nolan said, not exactly politely but not rudely, either.
“Mr. Gregor.” The woman’s voice was husky, like the women on the radio.
Shoulders stiff, Christian kept his back to her.
“Gabe—Christian,” the woman said more quietly. “Please, let me see you.”
Uncle Nolan’s look said, Do it.
Taking a deep breath, Christian turned around. Seeing her felt like the shock he got sometimes touching the metal door of the freezer case in the grocery store. She did look like him, or like his mom should look. He’d never wondered why he didn’t look anything like Mom, because he’d thought he must look like his father. But now—
He breathed too fast, in the grip of a panicky sense of guilt. Mom wasn’t here to tell anyone what really happened! Maybe she’d rescued him. Maybe he hadn’t been safe with his real parents. Just because this total, complete stranger said he’d been stolen—
“You’re so tall,” she whispered. Until now she hadn’t even seemed to breathe, only stared with clear gray eyes, her lips slightly parted.
Nobody had ever looked at him like this. He squirmed.
Uncle Nolan’s hand closed on his shoulder. One squeeze, and Christian settled.
“He’s already in a size-nine shoe,” Uncle Nolan said. “I’ve been thinking he won’t stop growing until he’s my height or taller.”
“I—” Her breath sounded funny. “My father is six foot three, and my ex-husband—your father—” she added, not taking her eyes from Christian, “is about the same. He played guard for the Kansas Jayhawks—that’s the University of Kansas.”
She was trying to outdo his real family. No way he was going to let her.
“So?” He shrugged. “Uncle Nolan played football for Cal Berkeley. He even got drafted by the Cowboys, only he went in the army instead.”
Her gaze strayed to his uncle. “Berkeley, huh?” A tiny smile might have been teasing. “Doesn’t seem to go with a military career.”
Uncle Nolan said calmly, “If you’ve read Thucydides, you know that ‘the society that separates its scholars from its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting by fools.’ I subscribe to that belief.”
He was always quoting from Thucydides, an old Greek guy.
“A historian,” the woman murmured. Her eyes went back to Christian. “Could we sit down somewhere? Or go for a walk together?”
The scared feeling expanded in his chest. He looked at Uncle Nolan, who nodded. Christian saw Ms. Stewart’s eyes narrow a little, but she didn’t say anything.
“I guess a walk.” He didn’t want to be, like, face-to-face with her.
Again he felt the reassuring weight of his uncle’s big hand on his shoulder as he passed. He was trailing her to the front of the store when Uncle Nolan called, “Wait.”
They both turned. Uncle Nolan wadded up Christian’s hooded sweatshirt and tossed it.
“It’s cold out there.”
He shrugged into it, thinking if he pulled up the hood,