Strangers When We Married

He’d spent part of the day in Kirk’s room, running his hand over the blankets that covered his son at night, touching the toys and stuffed animals that were neatly lined up on the shelves of a colorful bookcase.

Maybe Meghan was right. Maybe the best thing he could do for his son was stay out of his life. Who needed a father who was plagued by visions of death, who spent his time dealing with criminal minds and activity? What kind of a father would he be?

His thoughts would carry him down that path, then go full circle and once again he would find himself vowing to be a part of Kirk’s life, telling himself that every little boy needed his father. But no matter how many times he told himself he would be a good father, the doubts returned, niggling in the back of his mind.

He’d finally decided to make dinner, grateful for any activity that momentarily took possession of his mind, keeping troubling thoughts away.

A salad was made and waiting in the refrigerator, the pasta had been boiled—all he needed was for Meghan and Kirk to get home.

He sat at the table, wondering if she’d managed to discover any information for him today. If anyone could pick up signs of Simon’s whereabouts, Meghan could do it. She was incredibly bright and superior at her job.

He stood as he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He left the kitchen and met Meghan in the entry hall. Her cheeks were flushed a charming pink from the cold and like the day before, Kirk was snuggled against her chest sound asleep.

“You want me to take him for you?” he offered.

“No. I can handle him,” she replied. She moved past him down the hallway to the nursery.

She didn’t even want him putting the kid to bed. He hadn’t returned here to become a parent, so why was that so much on his mind?

She reappeared a moment later and shrugged out of her coat.

“Here, I’ll take it.” She’d give him her coat, but didn’t trust him with his son, he thought as he hung her garment in the hall closet.

“Something smells good,” she said as they walked to the kitchen.

“Spaghetti sauce.” He gestured her into a chair at the table, then went to the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of wine.

He knew her routine, knew she wouldn’t eat a bite until she had a glass of wine and unwound a little. He poured them each a glass, then joined her at the table. “Does Kirk always nap at this time?”

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