“He is big enough, Sarah,” she stated confidently, waving away any further protest.
No rings on her left hand.
“Besides, you can always call the police if things don’t turn out right,” she added to appease ruffled feathers.
Triumphant pleasure surged through Peter. Erin was on side with him. Whether it was over this issue—fathers who got a raw deal when it came to divorce—or more a positive response to his presence on the scene—the man he was—he didn’t know, but a step had been made and he could exploit it.
Erin re-engaged with him, appealing for his co-operation. “We’ll have to collect Thomas on our way back to school.”
“Understood. Better make it you who does the collecting,” he pushed. “Thomas is less likely to cut up rough if he’s taken from his dad by the princess.”
She had pale creamy skin and it suddenly bloomed with colour. Peter couldn’t remember any women of his acquaintance ever blushing. He found it quite entrancing.
“All right,” she quickly agreed, then turned away to gather the children into a happy little group again.
The officious Sarah frowned disapprovingly at Peter but she clucked around her flock, not quite prepared to keep fighting his plan but still fretting over being thrust into the position of trusting a stranger. Nevertheless, having to call the police and deal with legal issues was not an attractive idea, either.
Having successfully manoeuvred a second meeting with Erin and won some time for the distressed father and son, Peter virtually scooped Harper along with him to the designated park bench, encouraging his compliance with a spate of sympathetic talk. “I know it’s all got on top of you, mate, but just fall in with me now and let’s see if we can find a better way to get you back with your son.”
There was no fight left in Harper. It seemed to Peter the man was completely at the end of his tether, almost collapsing onto the bench and rocking his little son in a kind of desperate love, having no hope at all for the future. When he was composed enough to speak, he looked at Peter with anguished eyes and said, “She told her lawyer I was an abusive father. It’s not true. Not true…”
Peter believed him. Far from showing any fear of his father, Thomas was clinging to him as though he’d missed his dad as much as Harper had missed his son. The caring was obviously mutual.
“A good lawyer should be able to set that straight,” he advised.
“I can’t afford one. Lost my job. Couldn’t give it the energy it needs…”
“What work do you normally do?”
“Salesman.”
“Okay. What if I find you another job, set you up with a lawyer who’s an expert on custodial rights, ensure you have the best advice on how to handle what’s happening now…”
“Why would you do this?” His eyes reflected confusion, an agitated mixture of uncertainty and mistrust. “You don’t even know me.”
It made Peter pause for a moment to sift through his motivation. Because a father shouldn’t be forcibly separated from his son? Because he hated seeing a man destroyed by a woman who took everything from him? Because of the sheer injustice of what was happening?
Or because impulse was ruling his life today!
Erin…
Connecting himself to Thomas’s welfare gave him a step into her work-place, a follow-up point for pursuing a connection with her. Harper didn’t know it, but he was a heaven sent opportunity for Peter to further his acquaintance with a woman he wanted.
However, the simple answer was, “Because I can. And I want to help you, Harper. I want Thomas to have his father in his life. It’s important.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re promising a hell of a lot.”
“Trust me. I can and will deliver on what I’m offering.”
A searching look, wanting to believe, hoping for a miracle, then the question…“Who are you?”
The same question Erin had asked.
Peter knew he had to answer this time. It would give instant credence to what he’d promised. He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, opened it and showed Harper his driver’s licence for identification.
“Peter Ramsey,” the man read. The shock of the well-known billionaire-tag name hit him almost instantaneously. His eyes widened as he stared at the face that had been regularly displayed in the media for years—the squarish jawline, dark blond hair, blue eyes, strong arrowed nose, prominent cheekbones, a sprinkle of freckles from boyhood years in the sun—recognition sinking in. “What are you doing here?” spilled off his tongue.
Alone in a common park without the entourage that usually accompanied his public appearances…Peter shrugged it off. “Just taking a bit of time out of my life.”