His Unexpected Grandchild
Autore
Myra Johnson
Letto da
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Chapter One
Lane Bromley didn’t like surprises. Just under two weeks ago, he’d gotten a big one, and his emotions had run the gamut: Elation. Disappointment. Resentment. Relief. Underlying them all, right down to the soles of his all-weather lace-up boots, was pure panic.
Parked outside the Frasier Veterinary Clinic on the outskirts of Missoula, Montana, he stared through the streaked windshield of his maroon 4x4 truck. He probably should have phoned first to make sure Julia Frasier, DVM, was on duty today. But then he might need to explain why he’d specifically asked for her, and since he hadn’t had a pet since he was a kid... Well, that would get a little complicated.
A little? It didn’t get much more complicated than having his estranged daughter show up out of the blue with a toddler in tow. Shannon was skinnier than when she’d been a lanky adolescent, and she was so depressed she could barely string three words together.
And the kid. Cute as he was, little Tate arrived looking like Shannon hadn’t bathed him or put him in clean clothes for days. Beyond the dirty face, grime under his fingernails and a mild case of diaper rash, he seemed otherwise okay—and surprisingly good-natured despite it all.
I have a grandson!
Lane still hadn’t gotten his head around the idea.
Just then, an SUV careened into the space beside his. The driver shoved open his door, smacking the passenger side of Lane’s truck.
“Why, you—” Fuming, he got out and stormed around the tailgate to confront the offender. His mud-spattered seven-year-old truck had been through a lot worse, and showed it, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Can you help me? I’ve hit a dog.” The man was red-faced and hyperventilating. He pressed a button on his key fob as he stumbled toward the SUV’s liftgate. “I hope I got here in time.”
Inside the cargo area lay a massive gray beast, blood seeping from multiple injuries. One hind leg looked mangled. The poor thing whimpered with every breath. At the sight of the suffering animal, Lane was having his own problems drawing oxygen.
He swallowed a couple of times. “I’ll go find someone.”
Inside, he went straight for the counter and addressed a young guy in green scrubs. “There’s a badly injured dog out front. It’s huge. You’ll need a gurney or something.”
The kid—his name badge read Dylan—looked up with a start and then raced down a hallway. Seconds later, he reappeared lugging an orange contraption with carry handles and safety straps. Two more techs followed him.
Lane held the door, pointed toward the SUV and watched from a safe distance while the techs did a quick evaluation before maneuvering the whimpering dog onto the stretcher.
Once they’d taken the animal inside, the driver turned to Lane. “The dog will be okay now, right? Because I can’t wait around. I’m already late for an important job interview.”
Not my problem, he wanted to say. “I’m sure they’ll do what they can. But shouldn’t you—”
Before he could finish, the man dived behind the steering wheel and slammed his door. Lane had barely enough presence of mind to memorize the guy’s license plate as he sped away. Grumbling, he leaned inside his truck to dig out a pen and scrap of paper from the console.
As he jotted down the plate number, Dylan returned. “Sir, we need to get some information about your dog.”
“It’s not my dog. And the guy who brought it took off.”
The tech’s brows quirked. “She’s his dog?”
“No, he said he hit it with his car. I have no idea whose dog it is.” Lane could barely keep his frustration in check. The morning wasn’t going anything like he’d planned. “Look, I just need to speak with Dr. Frasier. Dr. Julia Frasier,” he emphasized after glancing at the three names stenciled in black and gold on the front door.
“She’s taking the dog straight into surgery, so it could be a while. In the meantime, maybe you could tell us what you do know so we can try to locate the dog’s owner.”
Dragging a hand across his stubbly beard, Lane sighed. “Sure. Whatever.”
Good thing his neighbor across the valley had been available to come over and keep an eye on Tate. The Vernons, living off-grid in the Montana mountains even longer than Lane, had raised four kids of their own, so he’d left the tot in good hands.
He hadn’t intended to be gone this long, though. On his way into the clinic, he texted to make sure Lila Vernon could stay a little longer. Her thumbs-up reply and quick message to say they were doing fine relieved his mind somewhat.
That still left the problem of why he’d come looking for Julia Frasier. Before he spoke with her, he’d better have a clearer head than he did at the moment.
Behind the counter, Dylan starting typing at his computer terminal. “Your name, sir?”
“Bromley. Lane Bromley.” He spelled it out.
“And the man who brought the dog—do you know his name?”
“Never saw him before, and we weren’t exactly exchanging pleasantries.”
The desk phone buzzed. Dylan picked it up and listened a moment. “Thanks, Amy.” He hung up and typed something else into the computer. “The dog isn’t microchipped, and she wasn’t wearing a collar or tags. Too bad the driver didn’t stick around long enough to at least tell us where the accident happened.”
“I got his plates.” Lane slid the scrap of paper toward the tech. “But I need that back. He did a number on my truck door.”
Dylan copied the information and then returned the paper. “Help yourself to coffee while you wait.”
Lane stuffed the scrap into his pocket—like he’d ever really follow through. The hassle wouldn’t be worth it. He considered returning to meet Julia Frasier at a better time, but his mountain cabin outside Elk Valley was over an hour’s drive northwest from Missoula. For now, at least, the winding roads to his place were clear, but who knew what tomorrow or the next day would bring? This was late August in Montana, when weather at higher elevations could change in the blink of an eye.
Ignoring the curious stares of a couple of clients waiting with their pets, he ambled over to the beverage machine. While a single-serving pod of dark roast brewed, he perused the wall decor. Something about heartworm prevention, another poster touting the value of regular checkups...
Then he came to a portrait of the Frasier family—an older couple, maybe late sixties, and an attractive fortysomething woman, all smiles and wearing white lab coats with stethoscopes looped around their necks.
He leaned in for a closer look at the younger Dr. Frasier. With her heart-shaped face and dark brown hair, there was a definite resemblance to Tate. Looked like he’d found the other half of his grandson’s family.
Now the real question was, how would Julia Frasier react to learning her son was a father?
“That was a close one, Amy.” Julia stuffed her surgical gown into the hamper. “She’s going to be in a lot of pain when she wakes up, and I don’t want that leg getting infected. Keep a close eye on her.”
“I will, Dr. J.”
The complicated surgery would have been even more touch-and-go without Julia’s most qualified tech to assist. The dog should recover, but she’d likely end up with a limp. There’d be some disgruntled patients out front, though, since their appointments had been delayed because of the emergency. Hopefully, Julia’s dad had been able to cover for her...for the time being, anyway.
Always in the back of her mind was her parents’ impending retirement. They were both in their early seventies now, and over the past few months, Julia had noticed her father’s gradually worsening hand tremors. He’d attempted to hide them from both Julia and her mother, but Julia had grown concerned enough that she’d begun monitoring her father’s appointment schedule and tactfully stepping in for the more delicate procedures.
Julia’s mother, staff veterinarian as well as office manager for over thirty years, had already cut back her hours. On top of her routine appointments, Julia had taken over most of the management responsibilities as well, and the strain was wearing. She desperately needed to hire a new office manager and bring one or two new vets on board—and soon, before she completely burned out. The plan had always been for her son, Steven, to join the practice once he completed veterinary school. But those dreams had died with him.
The phone intercom buzzed. Amy answered, and after listening a few seconds, she glanced back at Julia. “Dylan says that man is still out front waiting to speak to you.”
She forced her mind to the present. “And he has no connection with our patient?”
Amy shrugged. “That’s what he claims.”
“Guess I’d better find out what he wants.” Frowning, Julia donned a lab coat over her blue scrubs and adjusted her ponytail.
Slipping up beside Dylan at the front desk, she glanced around. A well-built man in a plaid shirt and jeans stood staring out the front window. The gray in his short, messy hair and scruffy beard gave him a rugged look.
To Dylan, she whispered, “Does our visitor have a name?”
“Lane Bromley.”
Didn’t ring a bell. She raised her voice. “Excuse me... Mr. Bromley?”
He turned with a start. “Dr. Julia Frasier?”
“Yes. What is it you needed to see me about?”
As he started for the counter, one of the other techs came out to call for the next patient. Julia smiled and nodded as the elderly Mrs. Gardner got up with her feisty black-and-tan min pin. Dad would have his hands full with that little guy, but at least he only needed a routine exam and annual shots.
Mrs. Gardner jerked her head toward Julia’s visitor and whispered, “Watch out for him. He’s a strange one.”
The man’s scowl suggested he’d overheard. He directed his attention to Julia. “We should talk in private.”
Frowning, she showed him to her office, where his masculine presence dominated the room.
“I can only spare a moment, Mr. Bromley,” she said from behind her desk. “I’m already behind with my patients.”
“After what I have to say, you may want to reschedule those appointments.”
Her brows shot up. “I’m not sure I care for the tone of this conversation. Maybe you should just come out with it.”
“You should sit down.”
More than a little unnerved, she could only hope he wasn’t about to slap the office with a veterinary malpractice suit. Had her father’s tremors caused a problem when she hadn’t been on hand to intervene? If only she or Mom could convince Dad to get a checkup.
She lowered herself into her chair, fingers tightening around the armrests. “All right, I’m sitting.”
He sat across from her and suddenly didn’t look so imposing. Rather, he looked...scared. “Sorry, this isn’t easy.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to something behind her on the filing credenza. “Is that your son?”
She didn’t have to turn around to know he was looking at one of her last photos of Steven. Her heart squeezed. “Yes,” she murmured, lips tight. “He... He passed away two years ago.”
“I know.”
Her chin shot up. “Who exactly are you, and how do you know my son?”
“I never met your son. I wish I had. Maybe then...” His Adam’s apple worked. He looked away.
The suggestion that Bromley’s business here had something to do with Steven unsettled her even more. “Would you please get to the point?”
He pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket. After tapping some icons and scrolling a few times, he slid the phone across the desk. “It’s about him.”
Her roiling stomach warned her not to touch his phone, much less look at whatever he wanted to show her. Hands still locked on the armrests, she shifted her glance to the phone screen.
Her breath hitched. Steven?
She glared at her visitor. “Where did you get a baby picture of my son?”
“That little boy isn’t your son. I only snapped this three days ago.”
“Then who—” One hand flew to her mouth, as if she could stifle the realization. This couldn’t be Steven’s child. He would never have kept anything like this from her. They’d always talked about everything. Everything...
Really, Julia?
True, they hadn’t communicated as often after Steven started college. During his last few months, she’d sensed him holding back about something and had assumed he’d taken the hint that the topic of his rekindled faith in God was off-limits with her.
But a baby? Never in a million years.
Clamping down on a pang of guilt, she swiveled in her chair and gathered the photo of grown-up Steven to her chest. “You’d better start at the beginning.”
Bromley gave a weak laugh. “This is almost as new to me as it is to you. I only found out about Tate—that’s his name—less than two weeks ago.”
Sinking deeper into his chair, he rested his hands on his thighs and looked toward the window. In a quiet voice, he told her how his daughter, Shannon, whom he hadn’t seen and had rarely heard from since she left for college five years ago, had shown up unannounced with her nineteen-month-old son. All he could get out of her was that she couldn’t cope anymore, that she only wanted to curl up and die—but she couldn’t let herself until she knew Tate would be taken care of.
“After she came home,” he went on, “I didn’t dare leave her alone for a minute for fear she’d harm herself. A friend helped me get her admitted to a mental health facility.”
“I’m so sorry.” Julia felt for the man, but she had other issues. “You still haven’t explained how you determined Tate is...is Steven’s.”
“I found a marriage certificate among Shannon’s things.” He produced the document, spread it open in front of her, and indicated the couple’s printed names and the signatures beneath them: Shannon Elise Bromley. Steven Edward Halsey.
Julia’s heart spasmed. It was unquestionably her son’s unique scrawl. “Halsey was my ex-husband’s last name,” she murmured. Then she read the wedding date. “They were married almost three years ago?”
He cast her a thoughtful stare. “You really didn’t know.”
She briskly shook her head while a thousand different explanations paraded through her mind. Not a single one of them jibed with the person she’d thought her son to be. “Go on,” she said stiffly.
“Obviously, I wanted to know who he was and why he’d deserted his wife and child. So I did some digging and learned he’d been a student at Washington State, and that he’d been killed in a motorcycle accident. His obituary made no mention of Shannon, so I assumed it was because his family hadn’t approved of their marriage. But seeing your face just now, I realize...” His expression softened. “Doing the math, I figure your son died a few months before Tate was born.”
Again, she couldn’t speak.
“I get that this is a huge shock for you,” the man said. “I know it was for me.”
“My son had a wife. A baby!” A sob stole its way into her throat. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I can’t answer that. I still have a lot of questions myself.” Bromley fished something else from his pocket. “I did find this among Shannon’s things.” He extended his closed fist and dropped a ring in the center of her desk.
She immediately recognized the exquisite antique—the scrolled rose-gold band, the emerald-cut amethyst bearing an intaglio rose of Sharon, a tiny diamond marking its center. Heaving a shaky sigh, she picked up the ring.
“It was passed down from my great-grandmother. When Steven was home on a school break a year or so before he died, he asked to see it. I didn’t know he’d kept it.”
“I thought it must be an heirloom. I’m guessing it was meant to be Shannon’s engagement or wedding ring, but I don’t think she’d been wearing it, so if you want it back...”
Pressing the ring to her heart, she pictured her son, how preoccupied he’d seemed in the last year of his life. When he’d stopped coming home as often, she’d wondered if he’d met someone. In fact, she’d cautioned him about not allowing anything to interfere with his studies.
Was that why he’d kept his marriage a secret?
Hurt and bewildered, she placed the ring on Bromley’s side of the desk. “Your daughter is my son’s widow and the mother of my grandchild. The ring belongs to her.”
“That’s kind of you. I’ll keep it safe until she’s better.” Pocketing the ring, he stood and roughly cleared his throat. “I know this has taken you by surprise, but after you’ve had time to process it all, I hope we can come to an understanding about Tate’s immediate future.”
Her eyes snapped open. “Understanding? You show up out of the blue and drop this bombshell on me, and I’m supposed to somehow process it so we can make decisions about a grandson I never even knew existed?”
“Sorry, guess that sounded a little too...expedient.” Releasing a groan, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t sure how this meeting would go, and I’m still figuring out how to deal with everything.”
Julia paused for a bolstering breath. “You’re right. We do need to consider the practicalities. But first, I want to meet my grandson and my—” she choked down the lump in her throat “—my son’s widow.”
He nodded. “They aren’t letting Shannon have visitors yet, but you can come out to my place to meet Tate. Under the circumstances, I’m trying to keep things as stable for him as I can.”
“Of course.” She mentally reviewed her schedule—not that she wouldn’t turn the world upside down for this chance. “I could come tomorrow. When would be a good time?”
“Whatever works for you.” He retrieved his phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you directions.”
Anticipation building, Julia provided her personal cell phone number. “Is there anything Tate needs? Clothes, toys, other supplies?”
“Shannon didn’t bring much, so I’ve been working through a list. My next priority is a crib and bedding, which I’m planning to pick up while I’m in town today.”
“I’ve kept Steven’s crib in storage all these years, hoping someday...” She pressed her trembling lips together.
The man offered an understanding smile. “That would really help, if you’re sure you’re okay with it.”
“Certainly. We can—”
A knock interrupted them, and Amy peeked in. “Excuse me, Dr. J, but...um...your father may need assistance with a patient.”
Working closely with Julia’s dad, the tech had actually been the first to notice his tremors. Ever since, she’d been helping Julia keep an eye on him.
“I’ll be right there.” When the door closed again, she turned to Mr. Bromley. “I need to get back to work. We can talk more tomorrow, though. And I’ll bring the crib.”
“That’d be great, Dr. Frasier. Thanks.”
“All things considered, I think we can dispense with formalities. You can call me Julia.”
“Julia.” He dipped his chin. “In that case, I’m Lane.”
“Tomorrow, then...Lane. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
Showing him out through the reception area, she fought to corral her scattered emotions. Since long before Steven’s death, professional detachment had become her shield. After what she’d just learned about her son on top of everything else weighing her down, she needed that self-control now more than ever.
But once 6:00 p.m. rolled around and she left the clinic behind, she intended to pull out her favorite photos of Steven and indulge in a good, long, purging cry.
Summer days in Montana were long, but once the sun slid behind the mountains, darkness descended quickly. It was after eight thirty by the time Lane finished his errands in town and made it home, so he’d needed his headlights to see the winding gravel road—more to make sure he didn’t hit an elk or bear than to show the way. After twenty-plus years living off-grid and turning this remote patch of land into something he could call home, he knew the road’s every twist and turn.
He left the engine running while he got out to swing open the wide tubular ranch gate, then closed it again after he’d driven through. Easing past Lila’s Jeep, he parked in the carport beneath the cabin. After a quick detour to the barn and chicken house to tend his livestock, he trudged up rough-hewn log steps to the deck and let himself in the front door.
Beneath the yellow-white glow of a reading lamp, Lila looked up from the book in her lap. “You told her?”
“I did.” His neighbor knew why he’d made the trip into Missoula. “She’s coming out tomorrow to meet him. And bringing a crib—her late son’s.”
“Oh, that’s sweet...and sad.” She closed her book and stood. “You must be hungry. I’ve got some ham-and-bean soup on the stove.”
He followed her to the kitchen but wasn’t sure he could scrape up an appetite. “Is the baby asleep?”
“Mmm-hmm. That little guy’s good as gold. Such a little trouper.” She paused to face him, her silver-streaked auburn braid falling across one shoulder. “You’ve got to make a plan, though, Lane. You know I’ll come over to help whenever I can, but with winter right around the corner, we’re busier than ever these days.”
“I know, I know.” Living off the grid meant taking advantage of every warm day to prepare and stock up for next winter. Bleary-eyed, he made his way to the table. Shortly, a steaming bowl of soup appeared in front of him. “Thanks, Lila. You’re a good friend. You and Dan both.”
“Hah. Ever since we sold you this property, we’ve been just about your only friends. And that’s not good, either. You’ve spent too many years alone in these mountains, Lane. You know good and well it’s why Shannon left home in the first place.”
He was too tired to argue. Besides, she was right. “It’s getting late. You should head home. And watch out for bears.”
She harrumphed. “Bears around these parts know better than to mess with me.” Shoving her arms into a nubby cardigan, she backed toward the door. “Holler if you need anything. And you might try praying, too.”
Pray? Like that would ever happen. “Good night, Lila, and thanks again.”
“The train’s comin’ into the station, so open wide!” Lane made a train-whistle sound as he aimed the spoonful of oatmeal at Tate’s mouth.
Balanced on Lane’s knee, the little boy spread his lips just enough while eyeing his grandpa as if he’d come from another planet.
He sighed and spooned up another bite. “Sorry, kiddo, my toddler-feeding skills are pretty rusty.”
“Mama?” Tate pointed toward the back door.
“Mama’s not better yet. I promise we’ll visit her as soon as the doctor says it’s okay. Now eat your breakfast so you can grow up big and strong.”
Across the table, Lane’s cell phone chimed. His cabin was barely within range of the nearest cell tower, but with a signal booster, texts usually went through. He handed Tate the spoon. “Here, you try while I see what that’s about.”
It was a message from Julia Frasier. Just leaving storage unit with crib. Didn’t realize you lived so far into the mountains. Should I bring bear spray? Emergency rations? Personal locator beacon?
So the veterinarian had a sense of humor. With Tate dribbling more oatmeal onto Lane’s jeans than he managed to swallow, he texted back: Ha. Ha. Gate will be open. Drive on through to the cabin. See you in about an hour, give or take.
More like an hour and a half, considering Julia didn’t know the mountain roads like Lane did. He should probably meet her where the Vernons’ drive branched off in case she got confused.
Once he got both himself and his grandson cleaned up, he decided he ought to straighten up a bit. While Tate sat on the floor stacking handmade wooden blocks—the same ones Lane had shaped and sanded more than two decades ago for Shannon’s enjoyment—he whisked a feather duster over every flat surface, straightened the stack of books by his easy chair, tidied the kitchen and put out clean hand towels in the downstairs bathroom.
Next, he needed to run down and open the gate. With Tate bundled into a lightweight hoodie and pint-size lace-up hiking boots, they began the slow trek down the driveway. Lane was just unlatching the gate when he glimpsed a lime-green Toyota 4Runner rounding the bend. Anyone could see that thing coming a mile away. Recognizing Julia Frasier behind the wheel, he waved and motioned her through.
A short way past him, she pulled to the side and cut the engine. Gaze fixed on Tate, she slowly stepped from the vehicle. She looked much different today in a long-sleeved crimson top and skinny jeans. Her dark brown hair was tucked behind one ear and grazed her shoulders. The overall effect was softer, somehow. More approachable. More real.
“Hi, little guy.” Her voice was high-pitched and shaky. “I’m your... I’m...” Taking quick breaths, she seemed unable to finish the statement.
Lane scooped Tate into his arms. “Maybe we should go on to the house.”
She nodded, then got back into her vehicle and followed him as he marched ahead. He stood at the base of the steps and pretended not to notice while she sat in the car for a moment to blow her nose.
“Down,” Tate insisted, leaning over so far that Lane was afraid he’d fall on his head.
“Easy there.” He righted him and gently set him on the ground as Julia emerged from her car.
Kneeling with one hand beckoning Tate, she could no longer hide the tears she obviously hadn’t wanted Lane to see.
After a glance up at him, the toddler slowly went to her. He pressed her cheeks between his hands. “No cwy. It be otay.”
Now the floodgates opened for real, and Lane’s heart twisted to witness Julia’s raw emotion as she enfolded their grandson in her arms.
How quickly this little boy must have had to grow up over the past few months if he’d already learned how to comfort a woman in tears.
Shannon, how could you do this to your own son?
