A Daddy for Jacoby - By Christyne Butler Page 0,8
collar, but stopped when the sound of the child’s laughter filled the air.
Followed by a gasp from Justin’s sister.
He looked up to see Racy’s gaze flying between him and Jacoby. “Sis, what’s wrong?”
Racy turned toward her desk and rummaged in one of the drawers. Justin and Gage went to her, while Gina settled the boy and the dog on the leather couch against the far wall.
“Honey, what are you looking for?” Gage asked.
Racy pulled out a manila envelope from the last drawer. “This,” she said, dumping the contents on her desk.
Photographs, black-and-white and colored, likely decades old, scalloped edges on some and rounded corners on others. She flipped through the images until she pulled out a small one.
“Thank goodness I had these stored here instead of at the house. They would’ve been lost in the fire. Here’s your proof.”
“Proof?” Justin asked.
“Gina told me about your surprise visitor and that precious little boy.” Her gaze lingered on the occupants on the couch. “As soon as you all walked in the door, I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Look at this picture.” She shoved the photograph into his hands. “That’s you. First grade.”
It was him. But it was also Jacoby. The image could’ve been of the same person. The dark hair and eyes, the square line of the jaw even at such a young age. They even wore the same colored T-shirt, red.
“Maybe you better fill us in completely,” Gage said, taking out a small notebook. “If his mother has taken off, we’ll need everything you know to try and find her.”
“I think I’ll head out now.”
Justin turned to see Gina at the door. The boy was reading a book he must’ve pulled from his pillowcase. One hand turned the pages; the other was busy scratching the neck of a very content Jack.
“No, stay.”
Gina’s elegant brows rose at his tone.
“Please,” Justin quickly added. “The kid seems—he seems at ease with you.”
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob and Justin thought she was going to leave anyway. But she gave him a quick nod and moved back to the couch.
Justin turned back to the sheriff and his sister. They both stared at him. He ignored the unspoken questions in their gazes and told them what had happened in the last hour. Then he described how he had met Zoe eight years ago.
“I didn’t believe her at first. Maybe I didn’t want to. Hell…me? A father?” Justin winced and waved the photograph in the air. “But seeing this…”
“Okay, let’s see if the boy can help us out,” Gage said.
He couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
After answering a few questions that revealed the name of his elementary school, a town in Colorado and that his mom’s car was tan and a piece of junk, Jacoby clammed up, refusing to answer any more.
“It’s not much, but I’ll start with finding out exactly where Templeton, Colorado, is.” Gage rose from where he’d knelt by the couch. He motioned for Justin and Racy to join him back at Racy’s desk. “I’m heading to the office to make an official report. Now, what are we going to do with this little guy tonight? Or the next couple of nights? It’ll probably take until Monday or Tuesday before we get anywhere.”
“Why can’t he stay with Justin?” Gina asked from across the room.
Justin turned, her question yet another sucker punch to his gut. At this rate, his insides would be black and blue. “Are you serious?”
“You are his father.”
“We don’t know that—”
Both Gage and Justin spoke at the same time.
“—officially,” Gage finished. When Gina opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand to cut her off. “Yes, I agree all the signs point in that direction, but until a test can be done we don’t know for sure. I can place a call to child services. They can find a local foster home.”
The sheriff’s words caused the pain sitting square in Justin’s gut to radiate throughout his body.
The entire room faded as the memory of his father yelling, words slurred thanks to the alcohol running through his veins, took over. He’d often threaten him, Billy Joe and Racy with horror stories of being shipped off to child services. At the time, the unknown hell he’d described sounded a lot worse than the hell they were living.
“Justin?”
Racy’s voice pulled him from the memory, in time to see the door close behind Gina. She must think he was actually going to—
He turned back to his sister and Gage when he felt a small hand, clammy and cold, against his