A Daughter's Trust

Adam, her uncle? And…

And Joe…Camden whimpered. Sue watched as her cousin gently lifted him, crooned to him. And then, with a mind that felt drugged, she offered, “Belle, this means we’re cousins by blood.”

Finally, a ray of sunshine in the whole crazy mess. She and Belle shared blood!

“What about Daniel?” Joe’s voice sounded odd beside her. “If this is true, Jenny’s his half sister. Sue his niece.”

Daniel. Joe’s uncle, nine years older than him. The builder. Sue had another uncle?

“I have another brother?” Wide-eyed, Jenny looked to Adam. And then to Stan.

Sue wanted out. Too many people. Too many emotions. Too much pain.

“My younger brother, Daniel, yes,” Adam said, defensive and lost at the same time. “From my mother’s second, brief marriage.”

Sue listened, one of Carrie’s feet in each of her hands, while her heart and mind tried to find each other.

And that’s when the truth hit her. In shock she turned and stared at her high school sweetheart. Her boss.

“We’re cousins,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

Joe stared back.

And Sue opened her mouth one more time, saying quietly enough that only he could hear, “Thank God we didn’t have sex.”

CHAPTER FIVE

RICK’S APPOINTMENT with his attorney early Wednesday morning went only moderately better than his meeting with social services the day before. He had a chance, but success was not guaranteed. At least his lawyer was going to file a motion for a hearing and for DNA testing.

Until then, WeCare Services wasn’t even going to grant him visitation rights.

And in the meantime, unless and until they got a stay with the court, someone else could get custody of the baby.

Cell phone in hand before he?

?d even reached his Nitro, Rick punched in the speed dial number he’d programmed the day before.

Maybe she hadn’t received his message. Or had lost his number. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him. At this point he didn’t much care.

She was to be at every meeting pertaining to Carrie’s welfare. To give her opinion. An opinion that, apparently, carried as much or more weight as that of the social worker WeCare had assigned to the case.

“Hello?” She answered before the first ring was complete. She sounded breathless.

Young and breathless.

“Ms. Bookman?”

“Yes. This is Rick Kraynick, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I recognized your number on caller ID,” she said, her voice uneven, as though she was still doing whatever had her so breathless to begin with. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back with you. I’ve been a little…distracted.”

The words came in disjointed spurts. Was she jogging?

“No problem,” he said, when in fact he’d spent the better part of the night before watching his phone—with mounting frustration. “Did I get you at a bad time?”

“No worse than usual,” she said, “better than some. So, how can I help?”