3. Amos
AMOS
I 've arrived just in time. I knew my mother's soft heart would have her taking in the boy before checking that he's Jake's. I hope the boy is Jake's, but we need to proceed with caution.
"Have you got a DNA test?"
I keep my gaze on mom ignoring the stranger seated at the table, hunched over her laptop.
"I presume you are Amos." I feel the woman’s gaze on me, but I’m trying to read Mom’s expression to see if she’s still hopeful, which will mean they haven’t done the test yet.
"I'm Jake's oldest brother, and we need to see a paternity test before we agree to anything."
"Amos." Mom grips the back of a chair and shoots me an admonishing look. "Alana's been telling us all about Jake's son. The poor boy just lost his mother."
I lower my head because once again, my mother is right. A kid has just lost his mother, and I feel for the little guy; he needs a home. But I have to make sure Mom's hope that he's Jake's doesn't override her common sense.
"Just because someone put Jake's name on a birth certificate doesn't mean he's Jake's."
The woman pushes her chair away from the table and stands up. She turns slowly toward me, and I get a good look at her for the first time.
My breath catches in my chest and the words still in my throat as my gaze racks up her curvy figure.
She wears a skirt that clings to her hips and a blouse that's pulled tight across her chest. Her thick hair cascades around her shoulders, and she peers at me with deep brown eyes behind a pair of wide-rimmed glasses.
After six months of deployment, this civilian is like a long drink of cool water, and I'm extremely thirsty.
I stare at her as throat goes dry and my body heats. My mind goes blank as my gaze settles on her lips, plump and kissable and pulled into a grim line that makes my dick twitch to life.
She juts her chin out and narrows her eyes at me. "I've been having a civilized conversation with your family, and I'd like to keep it that way."
I stare at her, not believing the attitude. I've come from the field where I bark out orders and my team follows my commands, no questions. But the first civilian I come across, and she's challenging me. It makes my dick thicken, and I shift to stand behind the chair.
I need to get a grip. I've been away too long if the first female I see causes this reaction.
Ed grunts, and I glance up to find him smirking at me. The fucker says a lot for someone who can't talk.
"Would anyone like more pie?" Mom's voice is feeble in her attempt to diffuse the situation. I glance across the table, and she's gripping the back of the chair so hard her knuckles are white.
I've come in here all guns blazing, and the last thing I want to do is upset Mom. Or pick a fight with the cute caseworker.
I hold my hands up. "I'm sorry. I'm happy to keep things civilized. I just want proof that the boy is Jake’s."
The woman—Alana is what Mom called her—glares at me, and I try not to look at the way her chest heaves up and down in anger.
I'm here to figure out if the poor kid is Jake's. I can explore this attraction later.
"Of course. We always recommend doing a paternity test." The woman sits down and pulls her laptop toward her. She types something fast, no doubt making notes about what a grumpy ass I am.
"Without the father here, it will have to be one of the family that provides the sample."
"What do you need? Blood, saliva? I'll do it now."
She glares at me, irritation apparent in her expression. "I don't have a testing kit with me. I need to order it."
I throw my wallet down on the table. "There's my card. Make it happen."
Alana stares at my wallet like it's infested with the plague. "The state pays for the test."
She types something into her laptop, and the entire room is silent. I dare not look at my family and the disappointed looks I'll see on their faces.
The woman's voice is tight when she speaks. "Please remember, there's a boy who has just lost his mother. All I'm trying to do is ensure he's going to his relatives where he will be loved and wanted."
She's shaking as she speaks, and I realize how much of an ass I've been. The transition from deployment to civilian life is always hard. In the Navy, I say things directly and don't worry about hurting anyone's feelings. It's hard to adjust when I get back.
"Of course we want him," Mom says quietly.
"If he's Jake's," I add under my breath.
The woman pulls up a browser on her laptop and orders the test.
"I'll have it sent to my office. I'll do the boy’s and I'll drop the other around here for you."
She speaks curtly and pulls away the laptop without looking at me. As she does so, she drags it across the cardboard file on the table, and some pages come out of it. A photo falls out, and I pick it up.
My chest constricts at the image of the boy in the photo. His sandy blonde hair hangs around his face, and he's smiling out at me with green eyes and a lopsided grin that shows off a missing front tooth.
I hold it up to a photo on the wall, a family picture of me and Jake when we were kids. We're by the lake, and Jake's holding up the first fish he ever caught. It's no bigger than a mouse, but by the proud lopsided grin on his face, you'd think it was a twenty-pound pike.
"Is this the boy?" My voice sounds hollow, and all eyes in the room turn to me.
Alana moves quickly to swipe the photo out of my hands, but I hold it away from her.
"I was about to give that to Shona."
I stare at the photo as memories of my dead brother flood my mind. How we played as kids, how I was always the serious one, but Jake could smile and charm anyone.
The kid staring out at me from the photo is like looking into the past.
"There's no need to do the paternity test," I say. "He's one of us."
I put the photo on the table and slide it across to Mom. She reaches for it, relinquishing her grip on the table. Her hand shakes, and her face goes pale. She makes a gargling sound and collapses to the ground.