The Black Sheep’s Baby

Moving abruptly away from the photo wall, she caught sight of a snapshot on the mantelpiece, similar to one she’d seen upstairs, of a laughing young man standing under a huge tree, one knee on an old-fashioned wood plank and rope swing, holding on to the ropes. “Oh, my God,” she cried, snatching it up, “please don’t tell me-this can’t be President Brown!”

Mike chuckled; it was the first time Devon could remember hearing anyone actually make such a sound. “Oh, that’s Rhett, all right. I suppose we should have something more dignified-an official presidential portrait, at least, but Lucy likes that one. She’s always thought Rhett is inclined to be a little too full of himself, and she wants to make sure he doesn’t forget where he came from.” Devon was staring at him, speechless. He laughed. “You didn’t know? Rhett Brown is Lucy’s brother.”

Realizing her mouth was open, she hurriedly closed it-and then her eyes as well. “I had no idea,” she said faintly, “Until I saw the picture upstairs.” And then, in a burst of candor brought on by chagrin, snapped, “I can’t believe this. Yesterday I thought your son was just some homeless unemployed bum my drug addict sister picked up on the street. Today I find out he’s the nephew of the former president of the United States.”

A husky voice, dry and amused, responded from the doorway, “The two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, are they?”

Devon jerked toward the voice.

“Hello, son,” Mike said mildly, “did you find your breakfast?”

“Not yet, but I will.” Eric let his eyes slide past Devon as he moved into the room. Okay, so he was deliberately-perhaps childishly-ignoring her. And yet, so acutely attuned to her he could hear her breathing, quick and shallow like his own. “Baby still asleep?”

“Your mother’s up there with her,” his dad said. “Haven’t heard a peep out of either one of ’em.” He ran a hand over his chin, looked from Eric to Devon and back again. “Uhh, guess I’ll go see what they’re up to…”

“I’ll go. She’s my kid.” Eric wanted to kick himself for the surliness in his voice.

He felt like even more of a jerk when his dad merely said, touching his arm as he moved past him, “You’d better get your breakfast first-you know your mother, she’s not going to want to see your face upstairs until you do. And,” he added with a chuckle on his way out the door, “you’d better change out of those pants before she sees ’em, too.”

“Some things never change,” Eric growled into the silence his father’s going left behind.

Devon laughed, a light but artificial sound. “Sounds like you might have a few issues with your father.”

He let himself look at her then, having had time to prepare himself for the shock that always came from seeing her, time to school his features so as not to let it show. Though…he felt the jolt a lot less this time. Maybe he was getting used to her. Beginning to see her as Devon, instead of Susan’s Ghost.

“What is this…issues?” he drawled as he studied her. “We don’t communicate. We’re father and son. So what else is new?” His voice was edgy because he was thinking that if the woman could look as beautiful as she did wearing his dad’s castoff bathrobe, somebody’s old chore coat and his high school sweatshirt, he sure would like to see what she looked like in her own clothes. What would they be, he wondered-gray flannel suits for the courtroom, maybe? Something softer, more feminine for the evenings. Royal-blue, or a deep forest- green, he thought, dressing her with his photographer’s eye.

“I don’t know,” Devon drawled back, mimicking his own tone as she touched the computer monitor that was sitting on his dad’s old desk, “your father seems like a pretty good communicator to me. I didn’t find him hard to talk to at all.”

Eric snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s because you’re not his son.” He added under his breath as he turned away from her, “And you haven’t let him down as many times as I have.”

“What?”

He watched his fingers trail lightly over dusty piano keys, making no sound. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” she persisted, moving closer to him, “what do you mean, you ‘let him down’?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her and smiled without humor. “Take a guess.”

But he saw that she was frowning, and genuinely perplexed. He let out a long slow breath while he thought about whether to answer her or not. It wasn’t his problems-issues-with his family he wanted to talk about, and certainly not with her. What he needed to do was get her talking about her family, her issues. On the other hand, maybe one way to get her talking and remembering was to start the ball rolling himself.

For a few more seconds, though, he didn’t say anything; not being used to personal confidences, it was hard to know how to begin. Finally, he reached up and took down a photograph-the biggest one-from the top of the piano. Smiling because that particular one always made him smile, he handed it to Devon.

She gave him a curious glance. “Who is it? Looks old-the picture, I mean, not-”

“It’s my great-great-Lord knows how many greats-grandmother. Lucinda Rosewood.”

“She looks a lot like your mom.” Devon was holding the portrait like an open book in her two hands, her normally flawless forehead marred by a tiny frown.

Eric nodded. “She’s named for her.”

Her eyes flew wide, colliding with his, and he felt himself start as if he’d been splashed with cool green water. “Oh-she’s much prettier, of course. Your mom is, I mean. This lady-God, she looks so severe.”

Eric laughed and shifted so he could look at the portrait of his ancestor with her. He caught the faintest whiff of something from her clothing…could it be mothballs? “Those pioneer women always do, don’t they? Like they could lick their weight in wildcats.” His throat was husky. He cleared it, and as if it were a signal of some kind, Devon looked up at him and handed the picture back.

Instead of returning it to its place, he held on to it, and said hoarsely, “There’s a legend in our family about Grandma Rosewood-I must have heard it a thousand times at least, growing up.”

“Legend?” Her voice was hushed, and…was it his imagination, or did there seem to be a catch in her breathing?

He didn’t look to see why. He was too close to her…the heat from her body was seeping through the weave of his shirt, soaking into his skin. Her scent was in every breath he took-a warm, woman’s scent, without even a lingering hint of mothballs.

He cleared his throat again. “Yeah…according to this legend, Grandma Rosewood saved herself and her baby from a Sioux raiding party by setting fire to her own house and barn. Then she tied her baby up in her apron and climbed down the well and hid there while the fire burned all the way to the river.”

“Looking at that picture of her,” Devon said in a light, laughing voice, “I can easily believe it.”

He reached up to set the portrait in its place. “That’s how long this farm has been in our family. Handed down from generation to generation, for more than a hundred and fifty years.”

“Wow…some legacy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a legacy that’s going to end with my mom,” Eric said, and his voice was neither light nor laughing, but hard and heavy, like the weight that had come to be in the middle of his chest.

Chapter 7

“W hy?” She was frowning, her eyes sharp and intelligent, clear and green as glass.

He felt a wild little ripple run through him, a reprise of what he’d experienced in the kitchen this morning during his first run-in with her. There was something about the woman that got to him. Excited him. Turned him on. It wasn’t the way he wanted it, but what could he do? The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t deny it.

“Why?” he croaked, angry with himself for many reasons. “Because I sure as hell am not cut out to be a farmer. I never wanted to be a farmer.” He jerked away from her and paced to the fireplace, ramming the fingers of one hand into his hair as he waved the other at the array of faces looking back at him from the mantelpiece. “Who does that leave? My sister? Okay, Ellie’s nuts about animals-she always planned to be a vet-but then she got involved with Save the Whales and Orangutan Rescue, and became a government biologist instead. She and her husband work together now. They go all over the world saving endangered wildlife-important