3. Chloe

C hloe canceled her long-overdue wedding planning session that morning for one simple reason: Travis had asked her to ride with him to Jacksonville, told her it was important, and announced he needed her with him.

She didn't require more than that from this man she had fallen head over heels in love with. But when she got in his truck and didn't see his quick smile or that warm light in his eyes, she decided she'd better get a solid explanation.

First, she leaned over the console and gave her handsome firefighter boyfriend a kiss.

"All right," she told him. "Rocky's Rescues is in the capable hands of my assistant, Ashley, and she's ready for our new boarder, a Dalmatian named Dot, if you can even stand that."

Surprised she didn't get a laugh on that, Chloe settled in to pull on her seatbelt.

"I've let down my mother and sisters by canceling the meeting to plan Tori and Raina's wedding-palooza," she continued. "No one seems to want to disown me for that, which is a relief."

Still no smile.

"I said goodbye to Lady Bug and Buttercup and got very sad eyes in response, since you said we couldn't bring them and…"

He shifted the truck into reverse, spitting driveway gravel as he backed out.

"Hey, hey," she teased, giving him a shoulder poke. "It's not a run-down animal rescue anymore, thanks to you and your bros who did all the renovations to make this my home, but…until we asphalt the driveway, go easy, okay?"

He simply nodded.

"Travis, are you even going to say hello?" she pressed when she didn't get more than that. "Or tell me why we have to go to Jacksonville?"

On a deep inhale, he finally looked right at her, his green eyes somber. "Apparently, my dad died."

She gasped, pressing both hands to her lips. "Travis! I'm so sorry! Oh, I'm yammering on about…ah. Travis. I'm sad for you."

"Please don't be," he said, but she heard the heavy note in his voice. "As you know, I haven't had contact with him since the day he blew out of my mother's house when I was in second grade. He's been dead to me for a long time."

"Still." She fell back against the headrest with a grunt of pity. "It's very sad. When did it happen? And how did he die? How old was he and…why do we have to go to Jacksonville?"

He took a moment, turning onto the street before answering.

"He died about four months ago of a heart attack, and he was…I don't know how old, exactly. My mom would have been sixty-four, so maybe a few years older. And we have to go to Jacksonville because one of his neighbors called me last night and asked me to come down to talk to her about something he left behind."

"Wait. What ?" She leaned forward. "Your dad lived in Jacksonville? An hour away? How did I not know that? Did you know that?"'

"Yes, I did but I don't talk about him. What else was in that litany of questions? What do you need to know?"

Everything, she thought, but knew full well that his father was a sore subject. This had to hurt, no matter how much he said he didn't care.

She just shook her head and reached for him. "I'm so, so sorry, hon. What are you feeling?"

He shot her a look. "Like, we pass a Cracker Barrel on I-95. Let's stop there for lunch on our way back. Those mashed taters are…" He chef-kissed the air. "Perfection."

"Travis." She squeezed his arm. "Don't bottle up your grief or make jokes. Your father died and you're thinking about mashed taters? Also, who calls them that?"

He gave her a conciliatory smile. "My mom did. And, babe, believe me, she was the only parent who mattered, and I cried plenty when that great lady went to heaven. Her death changed my life, as you know."

"‘No regrets, coyote,'" Chloe said, quoting the phrase Travis told her his mother always used.

That philosophy had taken this amazing man from a corporate job in New York to become a firefighter on Amelia Island—he had seized the day and had no regrets.

"Well, you might regret not even feeling slightly bad about your father's death," she said softly. "Can you tell me what you remember about him?"

He didn't answer for a long, long time and she stayed quiet while he no doubt meandered down memory lane.

"Not much," he eventually said. "Can we talk about something else? Was Suze mad that I yanked you away from Wingate business?"

She didn't see how they could talk about anything else, but she understood that grief was different for everyone, and his was still raw. She obliged him by changing the subject, telling him about how much she loved the "cat room" he'd finished making for her last week.

But no matter how much she talked about the animal rescue that he'd helped her transform into a comfortable home and business, she could feel her usually bright and funny man was hurting and emotionally absent.

She waited until they'd turned onto 295 and headed west before she slyly took the subject back to his father.

"So, can you remember the last time you saw him?" she asked softly, hoping that would help him open up about the man. "I mean, I know it might be hard to recall, since you were seven—"

"I was thirty."

She drew back, surprised. "You saw him four years ago? Here? In Jax…or…"

"Three and change years ago, but, yeah," he said, the response nearly inaudible.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I hadn't met you yet," he said.

But the news stung. "Why wouldn't you tell me that, Travis? Or that he lived so close?"

He took his eyes off the road long enough to pin his emerald gaze on her. "Chloe, I don't know how to explain the broken mess of my family to someone who has six stick-to-your-side sisters and the greatest parents who ever lived."

Actually, she kind of understood that, and nodded, but she was still thinking about the timeline. He'd only moved to Amelia Island a little over a year ago.

"So, you knew he lived here before you picked the Fernandina Beach Fire Department when you decided to chase your dreams?"

"Yes."

She distinctly remembered their first conversation when he made it sound like the FBFD was the only department that wanted to train a thirty-three-year-old MBA with a closet full of suits and ties.

"So you picked this location to be near him?"

He stabbed his hand into his close-cropped hair, threading his fingers through it with enough force that it looked like he might pull a few chestnut-brown hairs out by their roots.

"Not exactly but it probably had something to do with it." He gave her a sincere look. "This is all hard to talk about."

"Okay," she whispered. "Take your time."

He nodded, but it took a good half-mile on the highway before he cleared his throat and started to speak.

"I found his address a couple years before my mom died," he started. "Then, when I was moving up in the corporate world, I got sent to a finance conference at the Ritz on Amelia Island. I was close, so I decided to look him up. I wanted to… connect ." He scoffed the last word, telling her that the connection never happened.

"Anyway, I got to his house, parked across the street, and sat there for a while. Then the door opened and three people came out. It was a youngish dude, in his twenties, and a woman, also young, with long braids, a beautiful Black girl. And my dad, who was, you know, twenty-five years older than I remembered, but I recognized him. I just sat and watched. They all laughed and talked and hugged." He shook his head and gave a dry snort. "So much hugging ."

"Then what happened?" Chloe asked when he didn't seem to want to finish.

"My dad went back inside and the couple walked down the driveway. I got out of my rental car and stared at the house. The guy kind of checked me out and asked if I was looking for someone. I said Dale McCall and he said…" Travis swallowed. "‘Oh, that's my dad. He's in the house.'"

"You didn't know he'd had another son?"

"No. And it just…got me. Like a dagger in the heart. Here's this dude, maybe five years younger than me, with what I assume was his girlfriend, hanging out and…hugging." He swallowed hard. "In my whole life, I have no memory of hugging my dad."

"Oh, Travis." She reached for him again. "That had to hurt."

He rolled his eyes at the understatement. "It gutted me. I had this dream of walking up to the front door and shaking his hand, having him all proud of what I'd become and saying he was sorry and…hugging me ."

"What happened?" she asked softly, already knowing it hadn't been any of that.

"I left. Never even knocked on the door. I got in the rental car, drove back to the conference, and forgot about him."

"Why?" she asked. "Why didn't you talk to him?"

"I just couldn't," he said. "I can't explain it, but I was consumed with jealousy. Gripping, ugly, dark jealousy. I hated that kid who said he was his son. And my dad. Hated them both with everything I had. Still do, if I'm being honest." He gave a whisper of a smile. "Which, apparently, I finally am."

And she so appreciated that. "But you came back to Amelia Island a few years later," she said.

"I did," he admitted. "The department was on a list of about ten places looking for trainees and I remembered that it was beautiful and warm and…"

"Close to your father."

"That might have played a role, but I never, ever went back to his house." He let out a sigh, his broad shoulders relaxing as they rolled onto the Buckman Bridge. "Until today, that is."

"Oh, so we're going to that same house?"

"The address the neighbor gave me is on the same street, so yeah." He squeezed her hand.

"How did the neighbor find you?"'

"I've had the same cell phone number forever, and I suspect my mother might have given it to him years ago. I don't know." He huffed out a breath. "Listen, Chloe, I don't miss my dad. I didn't need my dad. My mother was awesome and now I have…" He slid into that slow grin that curled her toes and touched her heart. "Wingates. And you, my home girl."

"And, boy, do we hug."

"Seriously." He had to break their hands apart to turn the wheel, glancing down at his GPS. "I've probably hugged your dad more than any other man alive."

"He adores you. Ever since you built that fence around their little guest house, you've been tops in Rex Wingate's book."

"Then he won't say no when I ask for"—he reached for her hand again and lifted it over the console—"this."

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd danced around the subject of marriage. Not even danced. He hadn't proposed, but only because they hadn't even been together for a year. And her last engagement had ended so…horrifically.

But Travis was so different from Hunter Landry. She wouldn't be running away from the altar this time. On the contrary, she couldn't wait to be married to Travis.

"Do you think he'll, you know, give the old Rex blessing?" he asked when she hadn't responded after a few beats. "You do, don't you?"

He actually sounded nervous, which was adorable. "I guess there's only one way to find out, Probie."

"Hey, not a probie anymore." He shot her a smile and checked his GPS. "Two miles. And, man, I really hope it is a neighbor and not some…trap."

"A trap?" She sat up a little straighter. "What do you mean?"

"You know, his son. Maybe this is just a ploy to get me here, acting like there's some kind of inheritance for me."

She fluttered the seatbelt against her chest, considering that. "Well, if he left you money, then—"

He held up his hand to stop her. "I don't care if he left me a billion dollars and a yacht, Chloe. I won't take one thing of his, not now, not ever."

"Really? Even if he left you a ton of cash?"

He turned onto a side street and took a breath, visibly pulling himself together.

"I don't want his money," he said. "If he left me anything—and I don't know why he would, since he has a real son—it can go to a firefighter charity, every penny."

"You're his real son, too, you know. And if this is a way for your brother to meet you, then—"

"Chloe, no," he said, his tone serious. "I've lived this long without any ties to him and I don't want them now. Whatever this is about? I don't know. Don't talk me into taking anything of his or getting all…emotional. We'll shake hands, say nice things, and if my dad left anything, I'll instruct him to send it to the Fallen Firefighters Foundation. Promise?"

"I promise," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "Is that why you wanted me to come?"

He leaned across the console. "You make me feel better, Chloe Wingate. When you're with me, I can handle anything. I love you."

"Aw." She kissed him lightly. "I love you, too, Travis McCall."

The neighborhood in the town of Orange Park was typical of a million like it in Florida—quiet streets, lots of trees, and lined with one-story homes built in the seventies.

On the last turn, Chloe noticed that Travis looked long and hard at a small brick house on a corner, but they parked two doors away.

Holding hands, they walked together to the front door, which was opened by an older woman, easily in her eighties. She greeted them with a yellowed smile and patted her gray hair self-consciously.

"You must be Dale's boy," she said as she pulled the door wider and welcomed them closer.

Next to her, she felt Travis stiffen, but he covered with a handshake. "Mrs. Hanrahan?"

"That's me. Everyone calls me Gramma Kay. Hello, dear." She beamed at Chloe while she shook Travis's hand. "Aren't you a beauty?"

"Hello, Gramma Kay," she said, smiling, and somehow knowing it would help Travis if she handled the social niceties. "This is Travis, and I'm Chloe, his girlfriend."

She gave Chloe her hand to shake, which was knotted from arthritis but soft as silk and surprisingly strong.

"Come in, you two," she said, gesturing them toward a dimly lit living room that smelled like talcum powder and whatever she'd had for breakfast. It was neat, but dated and well-lived in.

At her invitation, Chloe and Travis sat side by side on an orange crushed velvet sofa that might have been around as long as its owner.

"Now, let me look at you," the woman said, sitting in a recliner across from Travis and leaning into the light. "Oh, I can see the resemblance. Yes, sir. You got a lot of your daddy in you."

He shifted with palpable discomfort. "How can we help you, Mrs. Hanrahan?"

She let out a sigh, as if the question disappointed her. "You can let me offer my deepest sympathies on the passing of your father."

Travis nodded silent thanks.

"He didn't talk much about you, but I know he loved you," she added, as if she could read minds.

"We, um, weren't really in touch," Travis said.

"Oh, I know. I'm likely the only person on Earth who knew about you, and that was just because he gave me your name and that cell phone number. And he told me to call you if I ever needed you, but only if it was an emergency."

Since the man was dead, Chloe figured that emergency had come and gone, but she waited for the woman to continue, fascinated.

"And this, young man," she said, lifting a brow the color and consistency of a Q-Tip, "is one big, fat emergency."

Travis glanced at Chloe, then back at the other woman. "How so?"

"Well, you're the next of kin."

"Oh, no, I'm not. He has—er, had—another son."

Her eyes widened and then she took a slow breath. "You mean Connor?"

"I don't know his name."

She dropped back into the recliner, her gray eyes misty. "Oh, Dale," she muttered to the air. "Why'd you do this to your kids?"

"Pardon?" Travis asked.

She groaned as if what she was about to say would hurt. "Connor and his wife, Aliyah, were killed in an accident two years ago. And none of us, including your daddy, were ever the same."

Travis blanched and automatically reached for Chloe's hand, no doubt getting a punch of guilt for the feelings he'd harbored toward the half-brother he'd never met.

"I…I didn't know that."

"No, of course, you were…not in contact. Because of your stubborn old man. So you are next of kin, son, and this is an emergency." She leaned forward, staring at him. "Connor and Aliyah had a little boy, Judah. And through the grace of our good Lord, that child survived the accident in his car seat."

Chloe sucked in a breath. "There's a child?"

"Dale took him the day they died. And for two years, those two were inseparable, Pops and Judah. Always outside on the street, playing ball, or Dale jogging after that little yellow toy car. I had the great privilege of babysitting that boy many, many times. In fact, he came down the street, all alone and crying when…he found…his Pops on the kitchen floor."

Chloe whimpered and glanced at Travis, who looked like he might pass out.

"He's about to be five now and…"

"Is he here?" Chloe asked, looking around as if this little orphan might appear in the doorway.

"Oh, no, they won't let me keep him," she said. "You see, I'm too old. He's at a temporary foster home. But there he is."

She gestured toward a framed five-by-seven photo on a crowded bookshelf.

"Oh, my gosh," Chloe whispered, nearly melting at the sweet and tiny face of a mixed-race toddler with fat curls and a huge smile and a pair of eyeglasses held in place by an elastic band. "He's precious!"

Travis glanced at the picture, still ashen, maybe shaking, then looked at the woman. "Why are you telling us this?"

She gave a soft laugh of disbelief. "Because he's in a temporary group home over in Mandarin right now. There's just enough money to start him a little savings after the house is sold, but that won't last long. Especially if the wrong people get their hands on it."

"The wrong…" Chloe pressed her hand to her chest. "Will he be a foster child?"

"Soon as they shove him into something they call ‘the system,'" Mrs. Hanrahan said, gripping the armrests of the recliner.

"He's so cute," Chloe said, studying the picture.

"Oh, honey, I prayed hard about what to do," the old woman confessed to Travis. "You see, I'm the only person on God's good Earth who knew about you, so I figured that was for a reason. I had to call you. Before little Judah gets shuffled from house to house and waits for a family, I thought I should tell you. Next of kin could take him, no problem. You just sign some papers and he's yours, I think."

Travis's jaw loosened. "I…I can't do that."

Chloe gasped. "Travis! He's an orphan!"

His shoulders dropped and she instantly remembered her promise. But this wasn't money or a house or a thing . This was a beautiful, darling, adorable child .

"What about his mother's family?" Travis asked. "Doesn't—didn't—she have parents? Siblings?"

"Oh, talk about irony!" she exclaimed. "That angel was raised in foster homes herself, which is why I'm so certain this isn't what she'd want for her precious baby. She was a go-getter, just like Connor. They met in college—she was bright and put herself through, worked every day—then the two of them got married and started a small business together. They were terrific. Until…that sad, sad day."

"And my…Dale's wife? Connor's mother? Where's she?" Travis asked.

She shook her head. "Oh, honey, she died of cancer when Con was about Judah's age. Dale raised that boy all by himself, then was ready to do it again with Judah. There's nothin' he wouldn't do—"

Travis held up his hand as if he couldn't take any more. "Got it."

"You are Judah's only living relative," the woman continued. "And I just know that boy should have a better chance than foster homes."

"I'm sorry, but I'm in no position to raise a child," he said.

He wasn't ? Chloe blinked at the statement, forcing herself to stay quiet.

"I'm a firefighter and I frequently do long, long shifts," he said quickly, as if his excuse needed explanation. Which it did. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Hanrahan. I can't help you or…no, I can't."

Was he really going to say no to this child? A shiver rolled over Chloe, along with a crushing blow of disappointment. He wouldn't even meet the kid? She'd jump in heart and soul to take care of that child.

"So, um, we better get out of your hair." Travis stood, awkwardly muttering his goodbye and thanks, taking a step toward the door. "Best of luck to you. And him," Travis added. "You ready, Chloe?"

She was ready to go get that child. But she just stayed seated with tears stinging her eyes.

"Just one minute," the old woman said, taking two, no, three tries to push up out of the recliner. "I have some information for you about him, in case you change your mind. Stay right there."

She disappeared down the hall, and the minute they were alone, Chloe popped up.

"Travis, you can't possibly—"

"You promised , Chloe."

"I promised not to take money. I didn't promise to let that beautiful child, who is your nephew , be raised in foster homes! You heard her. You're his only living relative!"

Only then did she see Travis's tears. Unshed and threatening, they filled his green eyes and reflected deep, deep pain.

"Chloe, I can't do it. My father loved his other son so much more than he loved me. He had nothing to do with me. Nothing! Then he raises another son and takes in his kid and…and… plays in the street with him. All without acknowledging my existence. I'm sorry, but I cannot look at that kid every day and be reminded of that."

"Do you see him?" she demanded, pointing to the picture and refusing to give credence to that excuse. This wasn't about his father or his half-brother. This was the life of a child.

With trembling hands, she took the frame off the shelf and held it out. "Look at that angel! Look at that sweet face!"

He didn't look. "He's not a puppy you rescue from the side of the road, Chloe. You can't put him in a kennel and find him a good home. He's a child ."

"Exactly! And I don't want to find him a good home. I want to give him one. Ours ." The idea clutched at her heart, and she pressed the picture against her chest. "We could raise this boy and give him a wonderful life. His parents were killed. His grandparents are dead. His mother was raised in foster homes! Don't you have a heart?"

Tears rolled down Travis's cheeks. "I do. And it was broken by my father. I just…I can't. If you don't mind, I'll be in the truck. Say goodbye for me. I don't want her to…see me."

He walked out, leaving her in shock and fighting her own tears.

"This is the address of the group home," Mrs. Hanrahan called as she came down the hall, then stopped short in the living room. "He left?"

"I'm so sorry," Chloe said, still clutching the photo. "This is hard for him, as you can imagine."

"I know, I know. Dale was…a tough nut to crack." She groaned on her next breath. "I don't really know the history, I'm afraid, and I knew this was a long shot, but I had to ask. Judah is such a dear, dear baby. I'd give anything to take him myself, and I'm sure some nice family will want him."

"That makes me feel better."

"Here." She stuffed a piece of notebook paper in Chloe's hand. "You can go to this address, but call the social worker first. Her name is Mae Ling. I met her. She'll make sure it's okay for you to meet him. Talk to your man and pray about it. Please."

Chloe glanced at the door, pretty sure her man wasn't going to talk about anything. "I'll try and thank you…Gramma Kay."

That made her smile.

"Oh, here." Chloe handed her the framed picture.

"You keep it," she said.

"I can't keep your—"

"Let me." She took the picture and turned the frame over, flipping the back off with crinkly but capable old hands. She slid the picture out and handed it to Chloe. "I have a hundred more. You look at him and…well, you know."

She knew. Who could look at that face and say no? Well, Travis, apparently.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again, sliding the picture and paper into her bag. "It's a complicated, emotional situation."

"There's nothin' complicated about that child," she said. "He loves dogs, but only the little ones."

"Oh," she let out a whimper, thinking of eleven-pound Lady Bug, her precious puppy who loved children.

"And plays T-ball and loves tractors. Oh, that kid goes nuts for a big yellow tractor. And he'll be five on the eighth! For months he's been talking about a Spider-Man party. You think that'll happen at a group home? Oh, and what about his eyes? He needs those glasses! Who'll take him to an eye doctor?"

Chloe held up both hands, her heart cracking so hard she could feel it. "Please. I can't want him any more than I do. But it's not my call. Travis is…"

"A good man who's been hurt by his stubborn, dumb dad. I know." She lifted a narrow shoulder. "I'll pray for him. And you."

"Thank you."

They said goodbye and Chloe walked out to the truck, seeing Travis sitting in the driver's seat with his head back, his eyes closed, in visible agony over what just happened.

She opened the passenger-side door and hoisted herself up to the seat, tucking her bag and the picture it held under her feet.

Travis turned to her, his tears dry but his eyes red-rimmed.

"I know I'm a big, fat disappointment to you," he said on a rasp.

"No, no." She tried to make that sound genuine, but she couldn't argue the point. A real man, a good man would take that child, wouldn't he?

"Well, I'm a disappointment to myself. But that's my dad's legacy, don't you see? He made me look in the mirror and see a kid Dale McCall didn't want. Then, everything I did—from high school to college to business school to following his dream that I be a firefighter— everything was so I could stop disappointing him and he'd magically care about me. But he didn't even know! Not one of those accomplishments hit his radar while he raised another kid by himself and was willing to do it again for a grandson. But me? He never knew a thing about me."

"But your mother knew. I know." She reached for his hand, realizing she'd never known he'd become a firefighter for his father.

"And now?" Travis scoffed. "Now, I get to be yet another disappointment by not being man enough to take on the responsibility of that kid." He groaned in agony. "I wish I could say yes, Chloe, I do."

"Then let's use the address she gave me and go see him."

"No!" He barked the word.

"Why not?"

"Because every single time I look at that kid, all I'd feel is…this pain." He banged his fist on his chest. "I can't bear a life full of that. Sorry."

He turned away and stabbed the ignition, rumbling the truck down the street without a word.

They drove all the way home in a sad and confused silence, no stop at Cracker Barrel, no change of heart.