Family Reclaimed: To Protect and Serve, #2

CHAPTER ONE

Over the last forty-five days, Jack Lode had learned the only thing he could count on was himself—not his family and not his friends, save one of each.

For the last fifty-eight miles the wind had whistled through the partially open window of his used, but new to him, Toyota Camry, aggravating his headache. The pounding began the very moment he signed himself out of rehab and grew sharper with each mile closer to home.

After thirty days of treatment, he’d gained the right to have visitors and make phone calls. He’d used his newly acquired privilege to get this replacement to his now totaled Camaro purchased and fitted for the ignition lock. It felt like an act of God that he was able to get it all done in the short time frame. The breathalyzer system was required on anything he drove for the next year, pursuant to his plea deal. His sister and her boyfriend had dropped it off a few days prior, and he’d spent hours staring at it from the window of his room. He’d instructed Margo to purchase anything on the lot that can be bought with the insurance check. He didn’t care what it was, he said. She’d proved him wrong. If his classic Camaro had a nerdy cousin, it was this car.

Margo had offered to pick him up from rehab and take him car shopping after his release, but he wanted to drive himself home—needed his driving privileges restored. He was acutely aware that as far as incarcerations went, his had been mild, but he longed for some semblance of freedom. As a course of habit, he reached for the open pack of cigarettes in the outside pocket of his duffle bag sitting on the passenger seat. Pulling one from the package he let it rest between his lips while he reached for the lighter that belonged in the center counsel of the Camaro. But this wasn’t his car, and there was no lighter. While most found the smell nauseating, to him it was a sweet siren’s call begging him to take just one deep inhale—promising to calm his nerves. The assertion rang false, and he knew it. He couldn’t do sobriety halfway. It wasn’t just alcohol he’d let take over his life, even though drinking had cost him the most. He slipped the smoke back into the pack and returned the crumpled package to the duffle bag pocket, stopping short of throwing them away.

When he’d passed the sign welcoming travelers and wanderers back to Caseville, his stomach sank. He’d left the town a pariah and didn’t hold any illusion his image had improved in his absence. Pulling up in front of the Front Porch Diner gave a little comfort. The one friend who hadn’t completely abandoned him—Nate Jenkins—owned the restaurant and was a near constant feature.

Larry was ten minutes late. The call to meet his probation officer at the diner had been an unanticipated twist. The public defender informed him they’d have weekly meetings after he’d left rehab, but Jack assumed they would meet in the guy’s office, not the social hub of the small town. Here he would have the unforgiving stares of his friends and neighbors judging him.

He had a lot of work to do if he was going to prove the last forty-five days had changed him. And it had. Time and therapy had helped him find focus. He realized the bottle he’d crawled into eighteen months ago to hide worked to destroy him. Time to stop running. Time to face the demons.

First, he would set things right with those he’d wronged. Then, he would go to Atlanta. He’d convince Kayson to talk to him. He couldn’t force her to love him, or even like him, but she would not keep him away from his son. Not one day more.

It was bad enough she’d hid Dalton’s existence from Jack for almost three and a half years. He only knew of his son because Kayson had brought him to her uncle’s funeral eighteen months ago.

A series of taps on the driver’s side window drew his attention. He looked up to see a stranger he presumed was his probation officer.

Jack stepped out of the car. Why are we meeting here?

This worked better for the Crawfords.

Ah! So, this was about small-town code. Betty and Sam were neighbors, and there was a correct way to handle things when you hurt a neighbor, especially when they were a cornerstone of the community. He’d paid for the damage to the fence and ticked off every box the court had asked him to do. The only thing left was his community service. What could the Crawfords want from him now, except maybe a pound of flesh? He really couldn’t blame them if they did.

Three months ago, Jack slipped out of the bar, just before closing time, and got behind the wheel of his car before the bartender could demand his keys and call his sister to drive him home, like she had so many other nights. He’d hit the cliché rock bottom that night, and instead of pointing his car toward his house, he headed out of town.

As the streetlights faded, the pitch-black darkness enveloped him, somehow offering a comfort he hadn’t felt since he’d been in Kayson’s arms. With a shaking hand, he reached down and unhooked the seat belt, letting it retract. The trees that lined the road flew by him as his foot pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine of the Camaro roared. He spun the wheel toward the large oak tree and shut his eyes. At the last moment, he slammed the wheel all the way to the right and moved his foot to the brake. The tires squealed on the pavement, then began kicking up stones from the berm against the car. The airbag punched him in the face at the same time he heard the metal crunch and wood smacking against the car. Taking out one hundred and fifty feet of the wooden fence surrounding Crawfords’ horse ranch hadn’t been his intention. Taking his own life had been.

In the three weeks that followed, he lived in a fog. The anger that once raged was drowned by the deepening depression. Yes, I drove drunk. Yes, I damaged the Crawfords’ property. Yes, I’ll agree to the rehab, the probation, the twelve-steps, the restitution, and the fines. Community service? Yeah, sure. I’ll do that too. When will it all stop hurting? When can I see my son? By day five in rehab, the numbness was gone, and the pain he’d been running from for eighteen months came into focus. For the first time, he really allowed his soul to feel it. He’d woken up in the dead of night drenched in sweat and screaming at the top of his lungs from the pain. Not detox. He’d endured that hell in the local hospital during that first week after the accident. This pain didn’t compare. He felt as though he was being torn apart with the need, the longing. How could she have kept Dalton a secret?

From that moment forward, his goals became clear. Work the program. Get healthy. Make things right with those he’d hurt, and then go to Atlanta and fight for the right to be a part of Dalton’s life.

As they walked into the Front Porch, Jack slid his hand into his jeans pocket and ran his fingers over his thirty-day sober chip and his one day at a time chip. Nate met them at the door. He had a plate in each hand. Jack! Good to see you. Can we talk for a minute, as soon as I drop off the Millers’ dinner?

Jack greeted Nate with a nudge to the shoulder. I’d love to talk, but I have a meeting with my probation officer and the Crawfords. Can we talk after?

Nate shifted nervously. Sure.

As Nate stepped aside, Jack focused on the six-top in the middle of the restaurant. His feet froze to the ground. It can’t be. Who is that sitting with the Crawfords? He asked Larry, even though he knew the answer. Am I hallucinating? Why? How?

I don’t know.

Jack only had a few pictures of Dalton, but he’d know his son anywhere. His sole reason for putting his life together sat in front of him. He braced himself and crossed to the table in the center of the restaurant. As Sam stood to greet him, Jack extended his hand. Sam, Betty.

Sam shook his hand but didn’t say a thing. His eyes were hard and focused and his lips flat. Damn, I’d hate to play poker with him. Sam seemed to be able to contain his emotions better than most. Betty smiled warmly, as usual. He wasn’t sure he could recall a time when she didn’t speak kindly or show warmth to another. It’s good to see you, Jack. How are you feeling?

I’m good. He dropped his body to the familiar diner chair; he couldn’t shake his stare from Dalton. The child he’d only known about for one year, six months, and five days. The child who had never been allowed to speak to him. Dalton had drawn and was now coloring a detailed farm scene. Blue sky with white fluffy clouds, green meadows, split rail fences, and horses in the background. In the foreground was another horse. Dalton was carefully coloring a blaze of white on the horse’s face. That’s a pretty cool drawing. That’s the Crawfords’ farm, right?

Betty spoke before the boy did. Jack, this is a new friend of ours. He and his mom just moved to town. His name is Dalton. Dalton, this is Mr. Jack. I’ve known him for a very long time.

Dalton didn’t raise his eyes from his work or acknowledge Betty’s introduction. He slid his finger from one background horse to the next. This is Mrs. Betty’s horse. This one is Mr. Sam’s. Mr. Ben rides this one.

Betty leaned closer, resting her arm on the back of the seat, seemingly careful not to touch him. You are doing an excellent job drawing Cherry.

Cherry is a silly name. Cherries are red. The horse is brown with white on his face and his back left leg.

The person who owned him before told me cherries are his favorite treat.

That caught the child’s attention. His eyes met Betty’s. Can I bring him cherries on Thursday?

Of course. He would love that.

Larry shifted his weight in his chair and checked his watch. I need to get back to my office. I have another appointment in an hour. Can we get to the reason of the meeting?

Jack turned back to Larry, Betty, and Sam. That is fine with me. What is this about?

Sam said, The damage to our property.

I am very sorry about that. I feel terrible about taking down your fence.

The fence was fixed months ago. Had to be. Like his face, Sam’s voice held no emotion.

The boy continued coloring but piped up. Why did you damage the fence? It keeps the horses safe.

As if Jack could feel any worse. The innocent question from his son twisted like a knife to the gut. It was an accident.

But the horses. They could have been hurt.

Jack swallowed hard. His kid had a point. Still, the fence was an unintentional casualty. It was supposed to be him who’d been smashed to splinters. I didn’t mean for horses to get hurt, Dalton. I didn’t want anyone hurt or any property damaged. It was a mistake. And the best thing anyone can do when they make a mistake is apologize and try to fix things. He directed the following words to Sam. And I really do want to make it up to you.

Larry took the opening. Let’s get this conversation back on track. As part of your plea deal, you paid the Crawfords eight hundred dollars for the damage to their property. It came out of the fines you paid the court.

Betty reached across the table and touched Jack’s arm. We used the money to buy new fencing, and the neighbors helped put it up.

Her kind touch did little to soothe Jack’s guilt. I should have been there to help with the repairs.

You were taking care of you, Jack. That was just as important.

I want to—need to—do more. I’m truly sorry.

Sam twisted in the seat. I’m glad to hear you say that. Larry and my wife hatched this little plan for you to do your community service hours at Sunnydale. We can always use another set of hands. Sam’s eyes crawled up and down Jack. I’m just not sure you’re up to the task.

Jack twisted in the chair. I remember next to nothing about horses and zero about the therapy work you do.

Sam eased back into his chair and chuckled. The kind of work we’d be needing from you is cleaning stalls and mowing lawns. Maybe you could work on some of the vehicles—if you have that kind of knowledge.

Not exactly what Jack expected to be doing, but maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. I sort of thought I’d be picking up trash on the highway.

After a day or two you might wish you were. The smile on Sam’s face told Jack he was enjoying this.

Betty scowled and nudged her husband’s ribs with her elbow. She leaned closer to Jack. If you want to make restitution to me, give us your community service hours.

His eyes drifted back to Dalton. The boy had asked about Thursday. He must be one of the Crawfords’ therapy riders? When he’d confronted Kayson at the church after her uncle’s funeral, she’d told him Dalton had been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. He’d tried to read up on his son’s condition while in rehab, but the center had only a few books for patients to read, and he was denied access to the internet. At his request, his sister had brought him a book when she dropped off the car. The one she chose was very technical, and he’d struggled to understand much. If Dalton was a rider at Sunnydale, working at the farm would give him a chance to get to know his son. "I do want to make things right."

Betty patted his hand and smiled warmly. Good. You just got home. Take a day to get settled. We’ll see you the day after tomorrow at six a.m.?

He hadn’t expected to start so soon, but it was for the best. The sooner he started, the sooner he could repay his debt, and if his community service also allowed him time with Dalton, all the better. I’ll be there.

Sam exhaled loudly. You’ll be cleaning stalls and working in the hay field so wear work clothes and boots you don’t mind getting shit on. Three hours a day, five days a week. In a month we’ll be square.

The bell above the door rang, and the child looked up. A light warmed his eyes. Mommy is here.

Betty spoke softly. I told you she was just running a little late.

Larry stood and handed Jack a manilla envelope. "Here is your paperwork. We have a standing meeting, every Wednesday at four p.m. starting a week from tomorrow.

Okay. Jack didn’t turn his head toward the door. Afraid seeing Kayson again would melt him. Or worse, she might put a quick end to this little meet-up and sweep Dalton away.

Sam stood and dropped a ten- and five-dollar bill on the table to cover the coffee and piece of pie, Jack assumed. Come on, Betts. We’ve got horses to bring in and feed.

Settle down. Betty scolded her husband as Kayson approached the table. A flash of her bright red braid caught his attention, as she knelt next to the boy’s chair, not noticing another person in the room. I’m sorry I’m late.

The boy started putting his crayons in the box, carefully one-by-one. Mrs. Betty told me your bike broke. Did you get enough wind on your knees and knuckles before it broke down?

She smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. Sure did. Brian brought me the needed part, and I fixed it right up. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact Dalton squirmed under her touches.

My mom can fix anything, as long as she has the right tools.

Kayson followed her son’s gaze. When her eyes met Jack’s, she paled. Quickly, she refocused her attention on her son. Who is this you’re talking to?

Mr. Jack. He smashed the fence at Mrs. Betty’s, so he wanted to fix it. But it’s already fixed so he’s going to work at the farm for a month. Mr. Sam said he’s going to get shit on his shoes.

Dalton! She scolded.

Betty interjected. Don’t blame the boy. Mr. Sam sometimes forgets he’s speaking in front of impressionable ears.

Dalton looked at Sam. Tell my mommy that is exactly what you said. He then turned to Jack. Tell her.

Jack spoke softly. It is what he said. He returned his attention to Dalton. But just because you hear someone say something, doesn’t mean it’s okay to repeat it.

Kayson pressed her lips tight together. Mr. Jack is right. And you know that. We’ll talk about this more later. She started picking up the items Dalton had neatly laid on the table, pushing them into the tote bag that had been sitting on the back of the chair. We need to go. Brian is waiting outside to take you home.

Dalton slammed his hand against the table three times. No! Stop it! You’re doing it wrong! You’re messing up my stuff!

Kayson dropped the items and took a step back. She wiped her wispy bangs off her forehead. Dalton, please. I need you to pick up your things. We can’t keep Brian waiting.

It’s okay, little lady. Take a deep breath. Sam wrapped an arm around Kayson, giving her a half-hug. Jack’s stomach knotted. The affection was fatherly, but Jack wanted to be the one comforting Kayson, despite the fact she’d shut him out of his son’s life.

Jack slid his hand toward the notebooks that Dalton was putting one-by-one back in the bag. Can I help you, buddy?

Sure. Hand me the blue one.

Jack did as the child instructed.

Now the orange one.

After that book was in his bag, Dalton’s brown eyes met Jack’s. Now the red one. It’s always green, blue, orange, and then red. After that, my colored pencils and then my crayons. Once they had finished loading the bag, Dalton stood and hung it over his shoulder. Now, I’m ready.

Thanks, Dalton. Kayson gently touched his shoulder. Sam, can you take him out to Brian. Tell him I’ll be right behind them on the bike. I want to talk to— She motioned her hand toward Jack.

No problem.

Dalton waved. Bye, Mr. Jack!

Bye, kiddo. Jack started to stand, but Kayson took the seat Dalton had just vacated before he could. You can’t do this. We had a deal.

Why was she coming at him? All he’d done was talk to his son about a drawing. How could we have a deal? I never had the chance to agree to anything. You never gave me any choice.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I told you before, he’s my son."

Jack gripped the edge of the table. You didn’t make him alone, honey. He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but damn it, he was angry, and didn’t appreciate her attitude.

But I’ve raised him.

Not by my choice. He exhaled and leaned back in the chair, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want it to be like this between them. He didn’t want to fight with her. The sight of her transported him back to their nights of passion and the smell and taste of her skin. How had they gone from that to this?

Two short months after graduating from training and joining the department, Brian and Jack had been included in the yearly national convention for firefighters. The department thought it would be a good experience for the new recruits. They could receive additional training as well as bond with the few senior members they worked with. On the first evening, Fred Norton had introduced Jack to his niece, Kayson, who was a new hire at an Atlanta-based department—and the connection between the two of them had been nearly instantaneous.

Both being new to the job, they’d been assigned many of the same workshops during the day. The evenings found them in each other’s arms.

After a long exhale, he leaned in again. I didn’t seek him out. I came here to meet my probation officer and the Crawfords. I didn’t know he would be here. I didn’t know you moved here. He peered deep into her green eyes and saw fear residing there. Is she afraid of me? He took a beat to rein himself in. I’d like to get to know him. I’d like him to know me… As his dad.

Her gaze darted around the crowded restaurant. Had she already learned prying ears lurk everywhere in small towns? Shhh. You don’t understand. Dalton can’t handle complicated concepts like this.

What do you mean? He seems smart as a whip to me. He chuckled. Must have got that from you.

He’s very smart, but I told you he’s on the spectrum. He doesn’t like to be touched. He has to have his things in a specific order—like his busy bag. He loves his schedule and hates changes. Moving here has been so hard on him. The Crawfords and the horses have helped, but telling him you are his father— Her eyes became shiny with tears. I can’t just spring that on him out of nowhere.

If you didn’t want me to know him, or for him to know me, why would you come here?

Kayson sat so still and silent. For an uncomfortable moment, she just stared at him. This wasn’t the woman he’d met at that convention and fallen in love with. That Kayson was fierce, spontaneous, and joyful. Her light had dimmed.

I needed a change, and I thought the slower pace would be good for him.

Her response didn’t ring true. Sure, it was logical, and he was grateful to have Dalton—and her—close, but it felt like she was holding something back. You didn’t think you’d see me?

She closed her eyes and her lips pursed as she slowly exhaled. Maybe. In some way, I wanted to.

Her admission gave him the first glimmer of hope he’d felt in a long time. You did?

He could see she was struggling to find the words. Her hands trembled against the table. I’ve replayed our last conversation thousands of times since Uncle Fred’s funeral. I did you wrong. When I found out I was pregnant, I was scared. I let my family influence my decisions.

We can’t change the past, but we can do better now. We’ll tell Dalton the truth.

He watched as her hands curled into tight fists, and her face transformed to stone. You don’t understand how he is.

Anger and fighting would get them nowhere. The last thing he wanted was for her to be upset by his presence, but he wouldn’t be shoved aside either. He softened his voice and hoped she would open to the possibility of letting him in. Lying is never the answer. If I’ve learned nothing else from my rehab, it’s that you can’t run from your emotions.

For God’s sake, Jack, think of your son.

That’s all I’ve been doing since I learned about him.

She stood up and leaned over the table. I have to go. I told him I was coming right home. If I don’t, he will freak out. We’ll talk. We’ll work something out, but you can’t tell him the truth right now. Promise me.

He held her gaze and saw nothing but pain. It broke his heart to know she’d suffered, but he had too. By her hand. I won’t say anything. For now.

She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her arm. Kayson glanced down at him.

When will we talk?

I work tomorrow. Thursday?

Okay. Thursday. As she walked away, Jack rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He closed his eyes tight and counted backward from ten. He searched for his center, pushing down the depression that had eaten him alive. The same depression he’d tried to drown in alcohol. The depression he’d thought he’d gained control of.

Nate took the seat Kayson had just occupied.

I wanted to warn you that Kayson and Dalton had moved to town.

Jack swallowed hard. Through everything Nate had been his one ally. When Nate had dropped out of college and come home with an infant daughter, Jack was seventeen. He’d regularly babysat Lori, who had become like a niece to him.

When Jack’s world blew apart, Nate was the only one patient enough to be a friend, and the only soul Jack confided in, besides his sister. How about my kid, huh? He’s something else.

He is. Nate drummed his fingers against the table before continuing. Seemed like Kayson— He seemed uncomfortable with what he felt he needed to say. Maybe because he knew Jack was still processing it.

She doesn’t think Dalton can handle knowing the truth.

Or she can’t handle owning up to what she’s done?

She says we can talk again on Thursday. Jack didn’t want to hurt Kayson, but he needed Dalton to know he had a father who loved him and wanted to be in his life. If she’s determined to fight me, do I have any legal rights?

Yes. You certainly do.

Nate’s wife was a lawyer. She had secured Nate’s custodial rights to Lori and adopted the girl as her own. Would Hailey help me?

Nate hesitated for a moment then nodded. Of course.

It was the first time Nate had ever hesitated with him. Was he asking for too much? Had the Jenkins decided they needed to distance themselves. Are you sure?

There’s been some complications with Hailey’s pregnancy.

Immediately, guilt washed over Jack. Not everything was about him and his problems. What’s wrong?

At the moment, she’s fine, but we’ve had some tense moments. And some big medical bills. In fact, I’ve fixed up the space upstairs and will be renting it out as an apartment.

Really? I need to find a place to live. When will it be ready?

It’s ready now. I heard your dad canceled your lease when you went to rehab.

Yeah. He did. Margo had to clean the place out. She tried to tell the landlord I’d planned for her to pay my bills, but he wouldn’t listen. Who knows what my dad said to him.

Why in the world would he do that?

The truth tangled in Jack’s gut. Some things even Nate wouldn’t understand. He simply shrugged and changed the subject. I’d like to see the apartment. Margo wants me to stay with her, but I can’t do that for long. It’s not fair to her.

Sure. Come by after the breakfast rush tomorrow. Say ten-thirty?

CHAPTER TWO

Kayson parked the bike sideways on the small concrete pad in front of the garage door. She’d have to move it later, but she knew Dalton would be on the verge of a meltdown. She didn’t want Brian to have to deal with it alone. She took off her helmet, dropped it on the seat, and then made her way through the garage into the house. She called out to her son as she hung up her leather jacket and dropped her gloves in the fabric basket resting on the small bench. Since Brian gave Charlene that ring, she has really feminized this house.

Dalton! she called out again as she transitioned from the laundry room to the open concept dining room and living space.

Brian’s head poked around the corner from the kitchen. He’s upstairs. He’s fine. A little miffed you didn’t make it to the barn in time to see him ride, but frankly I expected him to be more upset.

She joined him in the kitchen. I’m sorry. They’d only been living there a month, but Kayson felt like she already relied too much on Brian and Charlene to help with Dalton. Sure, they had offered when they invited her to apply for the job and move to Caseville, but she hated the feeling of being dependent on them—especially when it came to Dalton.

Brian closed the refrigerator and sidestepped to block her path. Why was he with Jack?

"He wasn’t with Jack. He was with the Crawfords. Remember they offered to keep him so you could bring me the part. They told you they had a meeting. I guess they didn’t mention with who."

No. They didn’t. I know you two have a history.

Is that what they were referring to it as now? A history. Of course, Brian didn’t know the entire truth. Only Jack and Charlene knew that he was Dalton’s father. At this moment, she didn’t think the knowledge