Phoenix: the youngest son—the fun-loving one.
The cowboy’s last ride.
Phoenix Rebel had been called a lot of things, but he’d never been called daddy. Yet the lady sitting on his mother’s leather sectional with the grim reaper-like expression and thick wire-rimmed glasses seemed determined to pin that label on him.
He scooted forward in his chair, trying to pay attention and look like a mature adult because his mother was sitting right there staring at him. If there was anything he hated, it was having to account to his mother for his misdeeds.
Before any profound words could leave his throat, Ms. Henshaw removed an iPad from her briefcase and laid it on the coffee table, pushing it toward him with one long finger. She tapped the screen. A photo of a young woman appeared.
“This is Valerie Green. Are you sure you don’t know her?”
He studied the pretty, blue-eyed blonde. She looked vaguely familiar, but he’d seen girls like that all over the country as he traveled the rodeo circuit. How was he supposed to remember this one?
“She’s from Denver, Colorado,” Ms. Henshaw added.
That triggered his memory. “Yeah, I met Valerie at a rodeo almost three years ago, I think. I’m not clear on the time. We hooked up for a wild weekend after the rodeo.”
Ms. Henshaw’s gray eyes skewered him above her glasses. “Hooked up? Is that your way of saying you slept with her?”
Again, Phoenix was very aware his mother was listening to every word. He was a grown man, and she knew the lifestyle he and his brother Paxton lived on the circuit. Although Paxton’s life was much more colorful than his. The thought of his brother reminded him he had to be on the road in ten minutes, so he’d better get this over with.
For a moment he considered this might all be a joke. Maybe his buddies were getting him back for the times he’d played tricks on them. But one look at the grim reaper’s expression and Phoenix knew the woman had never cracked a joke in her whole life.
This was serious.
“Yeah.” That was the honest truth. In front of his mother. And it didn’t hurt a bit.
The woman touched the screen again, and the face of a little boy popped up. Phoenix stared at the brown hair and the big brown eyes, and recognition tugged at his heart.
“That’s Jake. He’s Valerie’s son and twenty-five months old.”
Phoenix raised his eyes to stare into her steely grays. “You said you’re looking for the father. I’m not the father.”
In response, she touched the iPad again, and a document filled the screen. “This is a birth certificate, and if you look closely you’ll see that you are listed as the father.”
Oh, crap! There it was in black and white. “I spent a weekend with the woman almost three years ago. She liked rodeo cowboys and followed the circuit. If she was pregnant with my child, I’m sure she would have found a way to get in touch with me.”
“If you’re not the father, why do you think she would put your name on the birth certificate?”
Phoenix shrugged. “I have no idea.” He rubbed his hands together, not wanting to appear callous. “What’s happened to Valerie that you’re now looking for the father?” The woman hadn’t given any details, and he was curious.
Ms. Henshaw picked up the iPad and placed it on her lap. “I’m coordinating this case with a CPS worker in Denver. Valerie has no living relatives, and we’re trying to place this little boy with relatives. Hopefully, his father.”
“So Valerie’s out of the picture?”
“We haven’t been able to locate her. Jake lived with his great-grandmother, who had been named managing conservator since Valerie left him to get married. A week ago the great-grandmother passed away. She was found on the floor in the kitchen, and the autopsy showed she died from a brain aneurysm.”
“Where was the boy?”
“This is just an assumption, but when he couldn’t wake his great-grandmother, he pulled a chair to the front door and somehow opened it and got out. He was found on the street two blocks away in nothing but a soiled diaper. Someone saw him and called the police, who went door-to-door trying to find where the little boy had come from. A neighbor identified him, and that’s how they found Mrs. Green. He is now in foster care and not happy. He cries daily wanting Ma Ma.”
Phoenix clasped his hands together until they were numb. The story did a number on his conscience. Could the kid be his? The question went round and round in his head like a lead marble, leaving indentions that he didn’t want to feel.
“Have the police given up on finding Valerie?”
“No, but with few leads they’re stumped. Mrs. Green’s neighbor said that Valerie met a guy who wanted to get married, but he didn’t want the kid. That’s why she left him with her grandmother. The neighbor said the baby was about three months old then, and Valerie hadn’t been back to see the boy since. The grandmother kept hoping she would return. The boy needed someone younger in his life.”
Phoenix felt a tug on his heart again for that little boy. His emotions were getting involved, and he couldn’t let that happen. The kid wasn’t his.
Ms. Henshaw thumbed through the iPad. “The authorities there also talked to a friend of Valerie’s. She hadn’t heard from Valerie since she’d married, but when questioned about Jake, she said that Valerie didn’t really know who the father was. When asked why your name was on the birth certificate, the woman said probably because it was an easy name to remember.”
Oh, man. Even if this was a joke, his buddies could never get it this good or pick a woman as heartless as Valerie Green.
“The woman gave CPS two more names, and we’re tracking them down. Valerie was determined to get child support from someone. That is, until the new man came along and she forgot about the boy. That may be why she never contacted you.” She thumbed through more information. “The grandmother received a good pension from her husband, so the child was well taken care of. I guess Valerie knew that. Now—” she reached inside the big bag again “—it’s time to find out who the father really is.” She pulled out a vial with what looked like a large Q-tip in it. “If you agree, I can swab your mouth, and we’ll know in a couple of weeks if you’re the father or not.”
A swarm of butterflies attacked his stomach, similar to when he slid onto an eighteen-hundred-pound bull, knowing this was it—the truth. He’d either get thrown onto his keister or last the eight seconds.
“Sure. I just feel I’m not the father.” Yet that feeling was slowly waning.
Ms. Henshaw got up and came over to him. Within a second, she ran the swab through his mouth and placed it back into the tube. He noticed his name was written on it. That was it. Easy. The truth would be easy.
She stowed her iPad in the big briefcase and handed him a business card. “My phone numbers are on there. Call if you have any questions.”
“Thanks. How will I get the results?”
She reached for her phone in her purse. “I can call you, which would probably be the easiest way since you’re always on the circuit. What’s your number?”
He gave it to her, and she stored it in her phone. She then turned to his mother. “Thanks, Mrs. Rebel, for allowing me into your home. I hope we can resolve this situation soon.”
His mother stood and shook the woman’s hand. “I hope you find the little boy’s father. A boy needs a father.”
“Yes, ma’am, I agree with you.”
Phoenix