Wild Honey by Veronica Sattler Page A

child he’d been, whose father had never participated in his life.
    This last, especially, pulled at her. Her own father had been a warm, loving presence in his daughters’ lives before he died. How many times had she heard Jill say it was her memory of Daddy, more than any other single force, that had helped her past the abuse she’d suffered? Past what could have been a terror of all men.
    Daddy, with his strong arms and ready laughter. She could still see him, reading bedtime stories to Jill and her on the nights Mom was too tired, hugging her seven-yearold self after a spill from her bike—and patiently mending the gash in the tire that had caused it. Daddy, who had always been there, cheering his daughters on at girls’ midget softball, taking them to the movies on rainy Saturday afternoons, teasing Randi out of “the grumps,” as he’d called them, when she’d had the measles and couldn’t go on a class trip….
    Lord in heaven, what would her childhood have been like without him? But she had her answer: like what Travis was describing now.
    “‘Course Mother was properly thrilled for me when we won that squash trophy,” Travis was saying. “But it wasn’t the same. Not as it would’ve been if he’d been there. Squash was my father’s game. Mother, bless her, didn’t understand the rules. But her husband wasn’t even in the country when I helped the team come from behind and win that tournament. He was in France deliverin’ a speech I later learned he could’ve arranged to deliver earlier in that week-long conference. But instead, he’d—Ah, hell.”
    He looked up from the coffee he hadn’t touched and met Randi’s eyes. “Sorry. Guess I’ve been ramblin’. You’re likely bored to tears,” he added with a wry grin.
    Randi’s face was solemn. “No,” she said softly. “No, I’m not. Please…go on.”
    Travis shrugged. “There really isn’t much more to tell.” He paused reflectively, then leaned forward, holding her gaze. “‘Cept this. I haven’t told you these things to win your sympathy or, God forbid, your pity. I quit feelin’ sorry for myself long before I learned how to shave, Randi. And I won’t countenance that feelin’ in others.
    “But I do know this,” he went on. “My childhood is one reason I made up my mind to be actively involved in the parentin’ of my own children someday. Actively involved, Randi, in the life of any child I might have…”
    Randi gasped as the implication hit. Before she could speak, Travis grasped the hand she rested on the table and rushed on.
    “Randi, try to understand. The shock and confusion I felt on seein’ Matt and then realizin’ who he is…” He met her gaze squarely, adding in a soft voice, “And he is my son, isn’t he? You haven’t denied it, but I’d sure appreciate it if we could be honest with each other-please? I swear, I mean y’all no harm. God as my witness, I’d cut off my arm before I allowed anythin’ to harm either of you.”
    Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice. Or the way he squeezed her hand and looked at her with that unselfconscious plea that was so like Matt’s. Or maybe it was just that she was tired of avoiding the truth with him, tired of trying to pretend. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes and nodded.
    Travis released her hand along with the breath he’d been holding. “Thanks for that. I ‘spect it couldn’t’ve been easy.”
    She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite bring it off; for all she knew, that admission might have been the greatest mistake of her life. “Uh, you were saying?” she prompted.
    “Yeah—’bout the way it was when I first laid eyes on the kid.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “Well, shockand confusion don’t half describe it. It was disturbin’ enough to imagine a child I’d fathered out there in the world somewhere and me not around to nurture and…and love him. But think, Randi, how much more difficult it was to suddenly come across him