Jesse Hawk: Brave Father - WhiteFeather Sheri

“Did you eat?” Raymond asked. “It’s past the lunch hour.”

Patricia glanced at her watch. Food was the furthest thing from her mind. This was, she decided, a perfect opportunity to tell her father who and what occupied her thoughts. Dillon was gone, and the household staff wouldn’t be poking about, dusting furniture or offering entr'ees from a carefully-selected luncheon menu.

She scooted forward. “Dad, Jesse’s back.”

He turned his chair slowly, although she imagined his heart had taken a quick, unexpected leap. “For good?” he asked.

Patricia nodded. “He bought the old Garrett place. I went by there this morning.”

“So you’ve seen him, then?”

“Yes.”

“Did he come back for you?”

She kept her eyes steady and her expression blank. The question hurt almost as much as the answer. She had insisted years before that Jesse would do right by her, and her father had called her young and naive for believing so. Jesse would forget about her. Eighteen-year-old boys often confused lust for love. For Patricia the lesson had been a difficult one. Jesse had seemed so sincere. He had even offered to sacrifice his scholarship to be with her. That alone had convinced her it was true love.

“No. He’s opening a veterinary clinic behind his house.”

Raymond squared his shoulders as though preparing for an emotional battle. “Did you tell him about Dillon?”

“No. Not yet.” She held up her hand in a failed attempt to confront her father’s disapproval. “Jesse and Dillon have the right to know each other.”

“Oh, Patricia.” He let out a long sigh. “Do you honestly think someone like Hawk is going to make a suitable father?”

“But Jesse was raised in foster care. Establishing roots was important to him. He wanted children more than anything.” For Dillon’s sake, she prayed that was still true.

“Really? So is he married with a family now?”

She dropped her gaze. “No.” A happily married man wouldn’t have kissed her like that. And as far as children went, the strays he took in were as close as he got, of that she felt certain.

Raymond drummed his fingers on the desk.

Tricia looked up. “What am I supposed to do? Keep my son a secret? His name is Dillon Hawk, Dad.”

“Giving the boy that name was a mistake. Dillon should be a Boyd.”

Patricia rubbed her temples. That useless argument always resulted in a headache. “It’s too late to turn back the clock. And somehow I’ve got to get Jesse to agree to see me again.”

Her father’s eyes hardened. “What happened? Did he toss you off his property?”

“Not exactly, no.” She pressed her temples again. Worse than having been told not to come back, was Jesse’s admission that he’d never really loved her. After all these years, hearing it out loud had been like a blow to the heart. “He told me he didn’t want to see me again.”

“Mom? Grandpa?”

Patricia and Raymond turned simultaneously toward the open doorway to find Dillon staring into the room, his hair still wet from an afternoon swim.

Patricia slanted her father a nervous glance. How much had Dillon heard? “You’re back early,” she commented casually to her son.

“Mark ate too much candy and got sick, so his mom brought me back.”

“Did you eat a lot of candy, too?” Raymond asked, smoothing his sideburns in what Patricia recognized as an anxious habit.

“Not as much as Mark.” The boy moved a step closer, his ever-changing eyes a steely shade of gray. He turned to Patricia. “How come my dad doesn’t want to see you again?”

Oh, God. So he had been eavesdropping. “Dillon, come sit down. We need to talk. Dad?” She looked at her father, dismissing him politely. Raymond Boyd didn’t know how to be objective when it came to discussing Jesse.

“I’ll take a walk.” The older man stood, then squeezed his grandson’s shoulder as the child took a seat next to Patricia. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me.” He exited through the French doors, his loafers silent as they touched the stone walk-way.

Patricia reached for Dillon’s hand and found it cold. She rubbed it between her palms. He shouldn’t have heard what he did. She should have been more careful. “Just because your father and I parted ways doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t get to know him.”

The boy’s voice quavered. “But it’s not fair that he doesn’t like you anymore.”

She sighed. Apparently Dillon had only overheard the tail end of the conversation. For that she was relieved. And she couldn’t help but admire his attempt at chivalry. “Life isn’t always fair, sweetheart.”

“But he shouldn’t have been mean to you.” Dillon tugged his hand away, stood and paced in front of the desk, appearing suddenly older than his eleven years. “I don’t want you to tell my dad about me. I don’t care if I ever meet him.”