His Daddy's Eyes. Debra Salonen

aunt first,” Armory had told Ren. “You say Bo’s obtained the child’s medical records so you know the little boy’s blood type is O, which is the same as yours. But that’s a very common type. In fact, I’m type O, and we both know I’m not your father.”

      Ren smiled politely at Armory’s attempt at levity.

      “Perhaps if you explain the situation, she’ll be agreeable. If she’s unreasonable, I’m sure we can get a court order, but that will take time.”

      Unreasonable, Ren thought. What constituted “reasonable” when a child was involved?

      Armory looked thoughtful. “You said she’s a single mother. Do you know what her financial needs are? Maybe she’d be receptive to an offer of some sort of monetary incentive.”

      Ren knew his lawyer was only doing his job. But Armory didn’t know Sara Carsten. Of course, Ren didn’t know her, either, but he didn’t think she’d take a penny from him. The only way she might consider his request was if she believed it was in Brady’s best interest.

      At the small restaurant, both men ordered teriyaki noodle bowls—Bo’s with chicken, Ren’s with broccoli. A smiling Asian woman took Ren’s money, then told them “Number twenty-two.” After filling their drinks, they sat down at a small table. Ren chose a chair facing the large, plate-glass window. Foot traffic surged and ebbed on the sidewalk. People carried take-out meals to the park across the street.