“I’m sorry, Mom.” He wasn’t very successful at looking contrite. An inch short of six feet, he was starting to fill out in the shoulders and chest. His height and his heavy-boned features made him look older than he was. There was just enough fuzz on his cheeks that he had to shave, which really made him feel like a man. He had naturally respected Phillip’s authority because he had been a man, but he regarded Maggie’s orders with a kind of indulgence, as if he had to humor her because she was a woman. “But the bull-riding was the last event. Jeff and I didn’t want to miss it.”
“Am I supposed to ignore the fact that you are more than an hour late coming home?”
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Pamela rebuked her sternness. “It isn’t as though Ty had been to some wild party and come home drunk. It was all very innocent.”
“If you don’t mind, Pamela, I will handle this,” she retorted, fed up with the woman’s constant interference. It was difficult to believe she had once regarded her as a model of what she wanted to be. It had only been superficial. She often pitied Pamela because of the emptiness of her life, but it was empty because Pamela was essentially empty. It was something she had been slow to discover. It was only after Maggie had joined the executive staff of an international charity organization, where her facility with languages was so useful, and she had tried to interest Pamela in some volunteer work, that she realized Phillip’s sister was a very shallow person, unable to help herself or anyone else. It was more than her body that was crippled.
“You are much too strict with him, Elizabeth,” Pamela criticized.
Controlling her temper with an effort, Maggie turned calmly to her son. “Ty, will you please go upstairs and wait for me in my room?” She waited silently while he climbed the stairs and she heard the door to the master bedroom close. Then she faced her sister-in-law. “Don’t ever interrupt again when I am reprimanding my son, Pamela. I won’t stand for it anymore.”
“What have I done?” She looked properly astounded.
“Yo
u encourage Ty to disregard what I say. I will not tolerate any more interference from you on matters that are strictly between me and my son.”
“I will not be told by you how I shall conduct myself in my own house!” Pamela flared. “In case you have forgotten, this is my house! You are merely a guest.”
“Yes, this is your house. Phillip left it to you, and I’m glad he did. But, in case you have forgotten, Ty is my son. If I leave, he will go with me.” She considered that thought a moment. “Maybe it would be for the best, because it seems certain that you and I are not going to be able to get along.”
“You can’t be serious!” The possibility frightened Pamela.
“If you and I can’t come to an understanding about Ty, I don’t see where I have an alternative.” Maggie pivoted with a swirl of her satin robe and ascended the stairs to the second floor. She didn’t want to leave this house, where she and Phillip had lived so happily. It was filled with so many fond memories. Perhaps threatening to leave would be sufficient.
As she entered the master bedroom, she automatically glanced around the room to locate her son. He was seated on the side of the king-sized bed, his back turned to her, his wide shoulders slightly hunched. There was a dazed, pained look to his expression that brought a frown to Maggie’s face.
“Who is Chase Calder?” he asked hoarsely.
Shock wiped the frown from her forehead and drained the color out of her cheeks. “Where did you hear that name?” she accused in a whisper.
“I read it. Here.” He straightened from the bed and turned to show her the book in his hand.
Maggie recognized the Malloy family Bible. “No.” It was little more than a breath.
“It says he’s my father. Is that true?” He was tortured by confusion. “Who was Dad? You always told me he was my father, that the two of you just waited until you were older before you were married.”
“Phillip … was your father in every way that counts.”
“But who is Chase Calder?” Ty persisted, his voice breaking. “And why is he named here as my father?”
“Because …”—Maggie realized it was useless to try to keep up the lie; she deeply regretted the impulse that had made her write Chase’s name in the Bible—“… he is your biological father. But Phillip is the one who raised you, who loved you as only a father can love his son.”
“What you’re saying is that he adopted me and Chase Calder is my real father.”
“Chase was your natural father, but Phillip was your real father,” she reasoned. “He did all the things with you that a real father does.”
He stared at the Bible, opened in his hands. “I remember when we were studying genetics in biology class and I asked you why I had brown eyes when you had green eyes and Dad’s were gray. You said it was because I took after my grandfather. But it’s from my father, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He turned away, abruptly closing the pages. “I can’t believe this!”
“Ty, it doesn’t make any difference.” Maggie crossed the room seeking to reassure him and ease his confusion and pain, but he turned on her when she approached, his hard gaze boring into her in a way that sharply reminded her of Chase.
“I want to know about him.”
“No.” She drew back.