Except for a few occasions with Barb, added an inner voice. During a picnic at the lake, they’d rowed a boat into a secluded inlet and made love. Also, once in his car, she’d tempted him into a tryst that might have landed them both in jail had they been caught.
He must have been out of his mind.
“I guess this comes as a shock, huh?” Delaney made a sympathetic noise. “Believe me, I like the kid. I’d keep Mike myself, but the social workers wouldn’t let me. They wanted me to hand him over like he was public property, which is why I hightailed it up here.”
Social workers getting their hands on Connor’s son? That didn’t compute. “Where is he now?”
“Right over at the motel.”
Reality hit with a clunk. “You left a four-year-old alone?”
“He’s watching TV. Can’t get into no trouble that way, right?”
The physician side of Connor sprang into action. He had to assume charge until a suitable home could be found for Barb’s little boy, whoever the father turned out to be. “We’re going there. Now!”
Delaney finished his beer while Connor settled the bill.
At the motel, a key admitted them to room 12. A cartoon blared in the darkened chamber. Connor made out a small shape on the bed, watching.
When Sam switched on the light, the child buried his face in his arms. “Ow!”
“Hey, cowboy.” Snaring the remote, the mechanic muted the TV.
“Don’t call me a cowboy. I’m Biker Mike.” Indeed, the boy wore a black leather jacket just like Sam’s.
Finally, the kid lifted his face. When Connor got a good look, recognition jolted through him.
The freckled cheeks and snub nose could have belonged to his brother, Ryan, as a child. Both had the same slightly pointed chin and springy hair with a cowlick, too, except that instead of dark brown the color was chestnut, like Barb’s.
The smoky gray eyes matched Connor’s.
Biker Mike didn’t require a DNA test. The boy’s appearance, coupled with the birth certificate, erased all doubt of his paternity.
Connor had a son.
“Can we go home now?” Mike begged.
The pleading nearly made Connor say yes, until he realized the request was aimed at the other man. Home meant Atlanta.
Delaney changed the channel to a boxing match, still without sound. “I guess I shoulda explained why we came here.”
Mike had no idea what was going on? Oh, great.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him.” Connor hated to rebuke Sam, who appeared to be doing his best under difficult circumstances. Still, after three years as the boy’s unofficial stepfather, he ought to have developed some sensitivity.
“Sorry.” The man regarded him hopefully. “Go ahead, Doc. You tell him.”
In his practice, Connor often had to give people painful news. He devoted as much time as they required to listening and answering questions, and made referrals as indicated.
Tonight, nobody wanted Dr. Hardison’s professional wisdom. As for handling the fallout, he was on his own. No guidelines, no referrals.
He sat on the bed. “My name’s Connor.”
Mike glared. “Are you a social worker?”
“No, I’m a doctor.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to give you a shot.” Reminded of an important point, Connor addressed Sam. “Did you bring his medical records?”
“Yeah, everything’s in there.” The man indicated a large duffel bag.
The luggage struck Connor as the type bikers used. “You didn’t…” Although it was too late to make a difference, he cared about the answer. “Tell me you didn’t bring him from Atlanta on a motorcycle.”
“Vroom! Vroom!” Mike twisted a pair of invisible handle-bars.
“No, it got totaled. I borrowed that truck you parked next to.” Delaney clicked off the TV. “Hey, Biker? Connor’s a good guy. He’s, uh, he’s your real dad, so go easy on him, okay?”
A part of Connor wanted to deny the relationship. It still didn’t seem real, and obviously, he couldn’t raise the child. No sense in building up an attachment—or arousing antagonism—for a temporary situation.
On the other hand, the truth was the truth.
“Sorry, Mike. You’re stuck with me.” He braced for the reaction.
“Papa Sam!” Scuttling across the bed, the boy flung his small body at the man who’d brought him. “I’ll carry out the trash every day, I promise. I won’t watch cartoons when you’re hung over, either. Please, let’s go home!”
Connor’s heart ached. The little guy had lost his mother and now he was losing his father figure. Under other circumstances, trying to keep them together might almost have been worth it.
Except…the man had left a preschooler unsupervised in a motel room. He also apparently drank a lot.
“Sorry. Can’t do it.” Delaney hugged the boy. “You’re lucky. I never met my real father. Your dad’s one terrific guy. You’ll see.”
The vote of confidence gave Connor a guilty pang. He wondered if Yvonne had felt as blindsided by her pregnancy as he did by this discovery. At least she’d had a few months warning before someone had laid a child in her arms.
Right now, he had to comfort a little boy on the brink of tears. Connor crouched beside him. “You’ll like my big old house.”
“Yeah, doctors have big houses.” Sam’s words carried a note of envy.
“Actually, I rent the top floor,” Connor admitted. “My landlord’s a funny old guy, and I work across the street.”
Mike chewed on his lip.
What else could he offer by way of inducement? He remembered the playroom. “We’ve got an electric train and a bunch of other toys.”
“How about a motorbike?”
“Afraid not. Just a car.” Searching for another inducement, he said, “I’ve got a whole drawer full of suckers in my office, all flavors. What’s your favorite?”
“Licorice.” Mike eyed him dubiously.
Connor was losing on all counts. “I meant fruit flavors, but I’ll buy you licorice at the store. What else do you eat?”
“Peanut butter and jelly.”
“We can do that.” Clearly, he needed more bargaining chips. “I’ve got a TV and a computer. A DVD player, too.”
The boy folded his arms. “Sam, tell him to blow it out his ear.”
Delaney made a clucking noise. “Bad attitude, fella.”
Connor decided to drop the buddy-buddy stuff. It wasn’t working anyway. “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice, Mike. Sometimes things happen that even grown-ups can’t change.”
“Yeah,” Sam seconded. “Since I’m not really your dad, those social workers would snatch you away and put me in jail if I tried to keep you. No kidding. Dr. Hardison’s doing us a favor.”
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