The O’Fallons..... Plus One Read online

  The O’Fallons...Plus One

  Dianne Castell

  She didn’t want to wake anyone, least not yet. Rory O’Fallen always slept with the bedroom windows open, something she knew first hand. He needed to feel the fresh air on his skin, hear his river. Well, tonight he’d hear a heck of a lot more than the Mississippi.

  A sliver of moon peeked through the clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the rain tapered off and Mimi stopped the car halfway up the drive then killed the lights and engine. She rested her head against the steering wheel. This was either the best idea she ever had or the absolute worst. She pulled in a deep breath and took the basket from the passenger side, the slight weight feeling unbearably heavy. Keeping in the shadows of the oaks she crept across the expanse of grass toward the rambling frame house till she met a pair of eyes shining up at her.

  “Hi, boy,” she whispered to Max, offering him a peanut butter cookie then dropping a handful on the ground. The porch light helped her navigate the sidewalk to the screened-in porch. She opened the door, the familiar creek dredging up memories of her life as Mimi DuPont. Carefully she set the basket on the patio table.

  It hurt to breathe, her heart cracked, tears flowed as she took one last look through watery eyes. Run! Leave now before you chicken out she thought. She turned not believing she’d actually done the deed, until she heard baby Bonnie whimper, then start to cry.

  Lordy, she had O’Fallon’s lungs! And temper and blue eyes. Mimi smiled for a second at the thought then covered her mouth to muffle uncontrollable sobs.

  How could she do this? Then again, how could she not? Keeping Bonnie safe was all that mattered and Rory O’Fallen would do that, she bet her baby’s life on it.

  Rory O’Fallen tossed to his left side, then his right, then flopped on his back like a landed fish and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. If it wasn’t the blasted storm keeping him awake it was a stray cat. “I’m fifty-two, dammit,” he muttered into the night. “I work hard. Pay my taxes. Recycle. I deserve sleep.”

  ‘Course he could avoid this racket if he turned on the AC like Thelma did in her room down the hall, but then he couldn’t hear the low hum of the towboats or feel the river breeze even if the night was sticky as tree sap.

  Damn! There was that cat again. Ornery critter, or was it just afraid of Max? Either way, if it didn’t get fed it would squawk all night. He threw off the sheet and pulled on a robe that Thelma had tried to pitch for the last ten years. Housekeeper? Ha! Try warden, tyrant, tormenter, who also happened to make the best pecan pie on earth and be the best friend a body could have.

  Knowing every inch of the house his granddaddy built Rory didn’t bother with lights. He wondered if there was cat food left from the last stray that dropped in otherwise he’d have to go to tuna. Thelma would have a conniption if he fed her albacore to a cat.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your damn fur on.” He headed for the screened-in porch, the racket coming from that direction. How’d the hell a cat get on the porch? Rory switched on the light, opened the side door and spied a basket. Great! Someone left a whole basket of strays. That sure never happened before...except... He blinked in the light.

  “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat and sweet Jesus have mercy.” Rory lifted the basket and gazed into bright blue eyes surrounded by a little pink scrunched-up face that was none too happy at the moment. “What the hell! What are you doing here, little bit?”

  The baby squawked louder. “All right, all right. Sorry I asked.” He frantically rocked the basket. “Shh, shh.”

  The crying kicked up a notch, this time not sounding like a cat at all but more like one of those tornado sirens that made his hair stand on end. “Thel-ma!”

  Basket in hand he retreated into the kitchen. “Thelma,” he bellowed above the howling. “Get yourself down here. We got ourselves a situation. A real unpleasant one.”

  He bounced the basket and paced around the big oak kitchen table. “I should know how to do this,” he consoled himself as much as the baby. “I got three sons for godssake and they were babies...once...maybe. But not like this. Thelma!”

  The baby smirked--could babies really do that--took in another lungful of air and yelled again. “Oh, hell!”

  How could so much noise come out of such a tiny mouth?

  “What in the world are--” came Thelma’s voice from the doorway her eyes rounding to the size of duck eggs. “Dear lord above, it’s a baby! What are you doing with a baby, Rory O’Fallon? What have you gone and done now?”

  “Went tricker-treating and this is what I got. Just don’t stand there, woman. Do something. I’m going deaf.”

  She scurried over and peered into the bundle of blankets as more howling filled the room.

  “Looking is not doing!”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake it’s a baby not a water moccasin, and a little racket’s good for your metabolism. You sure don’t mind the horns blasting on your big old towboats none.” She scooped up the baby and held it to her breast. “It’s okay, sweet pea,” cooed Thelma in a voice Rory had heard her use with his own boys a million years ago. “You’re going to be fine as bug dust.” She gently rocked the bundle in her arms, her body swaying in a soothing motion.

  The noise decreased by several decibels and the glass in the windows stopped rattling. Thelma said, “I think she’s hungry.”

  “She sure as hell is something. And how in blazes do you know it’s a she?”

  “Pink stitching on the bonnet and she has on a cute little dress. Things you never did have with those boys of yours. See if there’s a bottle in that basket.”

  “I’d rather find earplugs,” Rory muttered as he rummaged through the material. His hand connected with round plastic. “Thank God and Gerber, we have food.” He pulled off the plastic cap, thrust the bottle at Thelma then headed for the backdoor.

  “You better not be chickening out on me.”

  “I’m taking a look around. The bottle’s still warm. The baby hasn’t been here very long.”

  The wet brick walkway chilled his bare feet as he padded to the front of the house. Blissful quiet replaced crying. At one time he was pretty good at the baby stuff, used to help his Annabelle with the twins whenever he could. But Annabelle had passed some fifteen years now and the boys were in their thirties and long gone.

  He looked out into blackness, across the wide lawn to the dim light shining off the docks just below the bluff. A car sounded somewhere in the distance, but that could be anything. With his barge captains and crews coming and going and the town across the way there were always cars.

  Thunder rolled down the river valley shaking the earth beneath him. Rain dripped in erratic fat plops from the leaves overhead. Max strolled up wagging his tail, yellow tennis ball clamped in his teeth, begging for play. “Somebody here tonight, old boy?” He scratched Max behind his ears. “Somebody you know, ‘cause you sure as hell didn’t bark your fool head off like you do at strangers. Bet you got peanut butter breath, don’t you?”

  Max wagged his tail, dropped the ball and grinned. “A guard dog with a peanut butter addiction.” Rory cut his eyes back across the peaceful lawn. “Which means this is no chance happening. Somebody who knows you and me and this here house left that baby. But why in the hell would anyone leave me a baby?”

  He and Max headed for the kitchen. No baby or Thelma there but soft baby nonsense drifted from the living room. Max checked his bowl for food, found it empty and sprawled out across the tile floor like he owned the place. Rory took the hall to Thelma sitting in the old wood rocker, the Tiffany lamp casting reds greens and browns into the dark room. “How’s she doing?”

  “Better now that she’s got something in her belly.
”

  “From the godawful smell in here I’m guessing she’s got something in her britches, too. What kind of stuff are you feeding her?”

  He opened the double doors that lead to the front porch sending white summer curtains afloat on the night breeze. He searched his desk for one of the cigars he kept hidden in various places since Thelma threw them out when she came across one. But this here was a cigar occurrence and Thelma would just have to deal with him smoking and--

  “Don’t even think about puffing on one of those stink weeds in here, Rory O’Fallen. There’s a baby to consider and we’ll take care of that diaper problem as soon as Bonnie finishes her bottle.”

  “Bonnie?” He stopped his search and gazed at the baby.

  “Bonnie O’Fallen. Written on her bottle along with the name of the formula.”

  Rory felt his breath lodge in his chest then finally managed, “O’Fallen?”

  Thelma rolled her eyes. “Well, of course she’s an O’Fallen. Why else would someone drop a baby at our doorstep?”

  “I’m a grandpa! Good God in heaven, what have those boys been up to now?” He paced. “Christ-in-a-sidecar! I swear, you raise ‘em, think they’re responsible adults and then they go stupid as a box of rocks and--”

  “Oh, I think the relationship might be a bit closer than grandpa.”

  Again he turned to Thelma and this time spied the gold four-leafed clover dangling from a thin chain in her hand. It swung gently, catching the light from the lamp. “Sweet Pea here had this around her neck and I distinctly remember it being around another female’s neck about a year ago. A present from you, I believe, to a lady who blew into your life, set you on your ear then left without a word.”

  Rory’s eyes met Thelma’s across the dark room and he sat down hard on the couch. “Holy shit!”

  “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

  Thunder drifted off to the next county leaving the content sounds of a suckling babe and the grandfather clock. “I gave Mimi the necklace for some Irish luck.” And love, he added to himself. “Why the hell did she just drop off our baby like this? What kind of mother is that? And why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant in the first place? What kind of no-count man does she think I am?”

  He stood and threw his hands in the air. “I would have married her in a minute. In fact I thought that’s where we were headed. We’d made plans. Her being thirty-eight and me being considerably more didn’t seem to matter one bit to either of us.”

  And it sure didn’t in bed. He remembered long passionate nights, legs and arms and every other part intertwined. Waking next to her each morning, her auburn hair framing her face, her blue eyes loving him as much as he loved her. “I thought she cared for me.”

  Thelma set Bonnie to her shoulder and gently patted her back for a burp. “I’d say there’s more going on here than a woman running off to have your baby then reconsidering.”

  Rory went to the sideboard and poured whiskey into two crystal glasses. He bought one to Thelma and drank from the other. “When we were together Mimi never wanted to leave the Landing, even to run down to Memphis for dinner. She’d beg off or make up some excuse not to go out where we’d be around other folks. I didn’t think much of it at the time but now...”

  “Almost like she was hiding out. And then she left for good and I never understood that either.”

  “We got the necklace and a name on a bottle for only us to see. No note to get into the wrong hands or misplaced. I figure that means Mimi doesn’t want anyone to know Bonnie is our baby. So what the hell should I do now? Any suggestions? Most times you’re filled to the brim with ‘em.”

  “Right now I’m suggesting you get me a diaper from that basket.” She winked at Rory. “Unless you’re feeling like doing the honors.”

  Rory tossed back the last of his Jack Daniels, the smooth warmth of liquor offering some relief to the chill eating at his bones. Where could Mimi be? She was in danger, everything in the past pointed to it. And there was no other reason she’d just leave her baby...their baby...without an explanation unless she was scared out of her wits. Damnation!

  He took the empty glass to the kitchen then rummaged through the blankets for anything he might have overlooked. Nothing. Taking the basket he returned to the living room and handed the diaper to Thelma along with some wipe things he’d come across. “I’m thinking we can’t tell anyone about Bonnie. If someone’s after Mimi they could damnwell try and get her baby to flush her out.”

  “Take off your robe and put it on the sofa so I can change her. Don’t want anything to get on the new chintz slipcovers we just had made up. And as for keeping our mouths shut it makes sense but we can’t just have a baby show up pretty as you please.”

  Rory felt a sly grin slowly spread across his lips. “What about the boys? ‘Bout time they did some good around here and they don’t even have to be here to do it. We’ll say Bonnie’s my granddaughter. That she was left here. I sure as hell didn’t raise three saints and everybody knows it. The ruse will keep Bonnie safe because no one will suspect she’s mine with three young studs on the loose. The town will be gossiping nonstop day and night, everybody yammering about the abandoned grandbaby.”

  “Uh, don’t you think the boys will have a little something to say about their sudden parenthood? And which one would you pick on to do the deed?”

  Rory considered the questions as he wrapped the diaper in the front page of the evening paper, sporting a picture of that crooked son-of-a-bitch contractor who bilked the state out of millions for dock and levee work not done on the Mississippi. It was good to see him where he belonged, in one big pile of poop. Rory put his robe in the laundry room and trotted the smelly diaper out to the garbage can. Least the raccoons would steer clear of them tonight. He went back inside.

  Bonnie made little goo sounds from her basket on the floor, Thelma hunched over, gently rocking the bundle. She looked up as Rory came in. “Well, any ideas, daddy?”

  “What if I say I don’t know which son this baby belongs to? That’ll keep the gossip mill on high alert even longer.”

  “And if the boys find out?”

  “Hell, Ryan’s so caught up in being a big fancy-dancy architect in San Diego he never knows what’s going on around here. Keefe’s a hot-shot TV star and couldn’t care less about the Landing and Quaid’s so busy fishing folks out of the Bearing Sea with the Coast Guard he never has time to think of anything else. I’ll hire a PI to find Mimi, get her back and straighten things out before any of them get wind of what’s going on. A perfect cover.”

  Bonnie’s blue eyes sparkle in the muted light and her tiny lips parted in a yawn. His heart swelled. A baby. His and Mimi’s. The one thing that could make him happier right now was to have Mimi safe at his side. He reached down and slid his big hand under Bonnie. “Come here, little one.” He cradled her in his arms, her body so warm and small against his barreled chest. “I think she has my eyes.”

  “Well, she’s got your temper, appetite and hell-on-wheels attitude,” Thelma said on a light chuckle.

  Bonnie’s fist found her mouth and she suckled it as her lids closed. Love mixed with a big dose of responsibility and he held a little tighter. Mimi didn’t have to worry about Bonnie. No one would hurt this baby, Rory O’Fallen’s baby.

  * * *

  Ryan O’Fallen loosened his tie. In spite of perfect San Diego weather just outside his floor to ceiling windows there suddenly wasn’t enough air in his office.

  “Ryan?” bellowed Keefe’s voice over the phone. “Are you there? Did you hear me? I said I got a call from the Landing Times about dad showing off a grandbaby. Did you catch that? Grandbaby? The reporter wants to know if it’s mine. Mine, dammit. I don’t have babies. Is it yours? It’s gotta be yours. You screw around more than I do.”

  Ryan stared at the phone in his hand and swallowed. He put it back to his ear. “Like hell I do and you’re not pinning this baby business on me. I didn’t mind taking the rap for
the wrecked truck or the hole in the living room ceiling but—“

  “Hey, you did wreck the truck and put that hole in the ceiling and--”

  “I’m careful, about sex I mean. And how do you know it’s not your baby?”

  Swearing that turned the air blue streamed from the phone. “Babies are not on my agenda.”

  “You think they’re on mine? What about Quaid? Could be his?”

  “When I called him he freaked and is trying every which way to finagle time off. I can’t get out of here till next week.”

  “Well this kid isn’t mine and a DNA test will prove it.”

  “Meaning you got to get to the Landing and get tested. Besides, something else is going on.”

  “Else? Like this isn’t enough? Shit.”

  “Dad wouldn’t return my calls and when he finally did he just said ‘Christ-in-a-sidecar, boy. Keep out of this business and stay where you are.’ How’d he expect us to stay away?”

  Ryan glanced at his day planner. Jammed. Too damn bad. Not only could he be a father but his own dad was off his rocker and who the hell was this kid? “I’ll get the next plane out. Fuck a duck. For years nothing ever happens on the Landing. Nothing. That’s why I left. And now...”

  “Well, something’s sure happening this time and one of us is dead meat.”

 

 

  Dianne Castell, The O’Fallons..... Plus One

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