Dad by Default

That might explain the scars. “She was riding with you?”

“I was riding with her, matter of fact. Car came outta nowhere. She swerved, we hit a ditch, and wham.”

“How long ago?”

“’Bout a month.”

A few more questions elicited the information that the couple had lived together for three years in Atlanta, where Delaney worked as a mechanic. Gradually, he grew more talkative.

“I told her she ought to call you. She wasn’t that kind of person, though. Too independent. I guess you figured that out.”

“She ought to have called me about what?”

“That’s the thing.” Sam scooped a pretzel from a plastic basket on the table and popped it into his mouth.

Why didn’t the man stop beating around the bush? “You mentioned a legacy.”

“Yeah. See…” Sam chewed and swallowed. “His name’s Mike.”

Connor was losing patience. “Whose name is Mike?”

“Your son.” A mouthful of pretzels cut off further discussion.

Connor’s ears rang. Your son.

Impossible. He had no children. “I don’t know what she told you, but I’m afraid you’ve been misled.”

From inside his jacket, Sam produced a wrinkled document, which he handed to Connor. It was a certified birth certificate from Fulton County, Georgia.

A boy named Michael Hardison had been born to Barbara Kinsey in September, nearly five years ago. That would be seven months after she left Nashville.

Connor was listed as the father. Plus, she’d given the child his last name.

Still, it was unthinkable. Kids didn’t appear out of nowhere, especially not in Connor’s well-ordered life.

A DNA test ought to clear this up.

He folded the document and pocketed it. “Where is the boy? With his grandparents?” Barb’s mother resided in New Orleans, he recalled.

Sam took another swig of beer to wash down the pretzel binge. “I called the old lady, believe me. Paulette’s watched the boy before, but she didn’t want the responsibility. Got some new boyfriend and no job. Barb tell you she grew up bouncing between her mom and her two aunts?”

Now that he mentioned it, yes, she had. Obviously, Mrs. Kinsey—or whatever name she used—wasn’t suitable to raise a child.

“He must have other family.” Connor gathered that the man expected him to handle some legalities. “Am I supposed to sign papers?”

“You do whatever you think best, Doc.” Sam sat back, apparently relieved now that he’d unloaded his news. “You married?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That makes it easier. Might be tough explaining to a wife about bringing home a son.”

Bringing home? The man expected Connor to…

For a few heartbeats, his mind refused to function. He’d organized his life carefully. This couldn’t be true.

During his few affairs, Connor had always protected himself and his lover. He was, after all, a doctor

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.”