She appeared not to have noticed his gaff, instead she waited patiently waiting for Braden to show some interest in the puzzle. The silence between them made him say, "We should probably get all the old sh—stuff between us cleared up, shouldn't we?"
She glanced up at him. "No. I don't think so. You're here for your son, and I'd never let my personal feelings get in the way of how I care for a child."
He knew that. But he needed to make her understand how sorry he was for what had happened between them. "I just figured if we set the record straight we wouldn't keep bumping into the elephant."
“The elephant,” she repeated softly. The look on her face told him she hadn’t expected him to remember.
When they'd first got engaged, Alexa had been attending a church that required couples to participate in weekly counseling groups before they could set the date for their vows. The facilitator, a reformed alcoholic, had structured the meeting after the twelve-step model and had often likened unaddressed problems to an elephant in the living room—a giant beast that took up a great deal of space and could easily squash the best of intentions.
Elephants?
Like the giant gray beast you just dropped on the table between us? No wonder your son can’t do the puzzle. There’s a pachyderm sitting on it.
She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. “We only keep hippos here, Mark. Do you see any elephants, Braden?" she asked the little boy who hadn’t made eye contact with her since they sat down.
He suddenly looked up and their gazes met. Alexa felt an instant connection. Just for a second, but in that tiny space of time, she felt the little boy's turmoil and fear. He was terrified by demons, real and imagined.
He might not speak, but his eyes said something Alexa couldn't ignore. "Help me."
“Braden can start here tomorrow, if you want.”
A silent thump echoed between them. Braden looked over his shoulder as if he’d heard the imaginary sound as well.
Yeah, so she'd lied about the elephant. There was a big one sitting right there on the middle of the sunshine rug, but what kind of teacher--and mother-to-be--would turn her back on a child in need?
She’d do her best for Braden.
Braden's dad, though, was on his own.
Chapter 4
"What did you say?" Mark asked, afraid he might not have heard her right.
She gently touched Braden's cheek and when he lifted his chin, she said to him, "Braden, I'd like very much for you to come to school here. There will be children who are younger than you. Some are much younger, but they will be doing different activities most of the time. You will be in my after-school program."
Mark's heart lightened with relief. 'That's great news, isn't it, Braden?" He didn't wait for an answer that he knew wouldn't be forthcoming.
He helped his son get to his feet. "No more babysitters for you, Bray. You're too big for that. Now, you'll ride the bus here after school. I'll go to your school and make sure it's all set up tomorrow."
Braden seemed to be listening, but he didn't give any outward sign that he cared one way or the other. Mark was used to that lack of response. He continued to talk as if his son had answered positively, “Cool, Dad. I can't wait."
He led Braden into the coatroom. "I have a good feeling about this, Bray. I think you're going to like it here."
Alexa, Mark noted, stood to one side, a concerned look on her face. Sympathy? Maybe a tiny bit of fear? Hopefully not regret about opening her door--and her heart--to her ex’s damaged kid. But when they returned to the main room, she handed him a folder, already labeled Braden Gaylord.
"Paperwork. Fee chart. Emergency contact numbers. Medical information that I might need in case something happens. Standard stuff."
When he took it from her, their fingers touched. Briefly. Maybe more of a ghost touch, but one he felt all the way through his bones. God, he'd missed her.
"Ready, buddy?" Mark asked as Alexa dropped to one knee to help Braden put on his stocking cap. She tucked his hair, which Mark could have sworn they'd just got cut, out of his eyes. There was something inherently motherly in the gesture.
"Tomorrow, then," he said when she returned to her feet. "You're sure?"
Her lips pressed together in a way he knew meant she was irked. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't think Braden and I were going to get along just fine."
"Do you think... ?'' He stopped. Partly because he knew it was too soon to hope; partly because he didn't want to hear that she was just being sympathetic to a motherless little boy. Alexa was kind. And generous. And Mark had no business wishing the things he did.
"Okay, then, we'll see you tomorrow. Tell Miss Alexa goodbye, Braden."
His son wiped his mitten across his nose and looked at the floor.
Alexa smiled and patted Braden's shoulder in a supportive way. "Have a good night. I'll be on the corner waiting for you when you get off the bus. I promise." She made a cross-your-heart motion that made Braden look up. "Don't forget your flash cards tomorrow. We'll play a game with them."
Mark could tell that Alexa was tired and anxious for them to leave, but he wasn't looking forward to the night ahead. A silent dinner. An evening of one-sided conversation with a little boy he loved more than life. A little boy he couldn't reach.
But he was an adult. This was his problem, not Alexa's. "I'll fill out these papers and put the file in his backpack," he told her. "But I'll pay you when I come to pick him up, okay?"
"Of course."
Of course. Money would be exchanged for services rendered. There really wasn't anything else to say. She opened the door. "Have a good night."
Her tone was distant. Professional.
"You, too. Thanks."
He and Braden walked down the ramp and passed through the squeaky gate. The brisk night air helped him retrieve some control over his emotions.
This was a job to her. Braden was her student. And Mark? Probably just a bad memory. That she could put their history behind her and act in Braden 's best interest further proved what Mark had always known—Alexa was a much better person than he was.
This is the way it has to be, he told himself as he buckled his son into his seat belt. Braden is my chief priority at the moment. My only priority.
As he pulled away from the curb, his cell phone rang. Traffic was light, but he didn't like talking on the phone while driving, so he pulled over before he picked up his phone. ''This will just take a minute, son. Then we'll stop at McDonald's for dinner, okay?"
Braden was staring out the window, his chin turned so he could see the Christmas lights that adorned the Dancing Hippo sign. Maybe we should take a drive to see all the holiday lights. Brae might get a kick out of some of the neighborhoods where people spent ridiculous amounts of money trying to out-display their neighbors.
He checked the number displayed before putting his phone to his ear. "Gaylord."
"We have a situation."
Even if Mark hadn’t seen the name Zeke Martini on the display before answering, he would have recognized the voice of his old mentor. Zeke had been instrumental in Mark's move to Vegas nearly ten years ago. He'd helped Mark find his place in Metro and even supported Mark's move to the fire department. Mark was pretty sure it was Zeke's recommendation that got Mark into the arson division. "What kind of situation?"
"Ritter in Vice just called. Said two of his deep cover officers busted a mid-level porn distributor and came across a good-sized stash of drugs. Locally manufactured meth. Some cocaine and some bootlegged prescription drugs. The guy is looking at his third strike and would sell out his mother if it got him some concessions."
"So?"
"He said he could prove that a former cop killed his wife by blowing up her dealer's lab.. .with her in it."
An icy chill passed down Mark's spine. He glanced in the backseat at his son. Braden's eyes were closed and he seemed to have nodded off, with his head resting against the cold glass.
"And...”
"He named names. Tracey. And you."
Mark squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the swearword that automatically came to his lips. Screwed again. Even from the grave his ex-wife seemed determined to make him pay for the crime of not loving her as much as he’d loved Alexa.
Alexa put away the puzzle she’d tried to interest Braden in and tidied up the chairs father and son had been using. Before turning off the lights in the preschool—the area of the house that would have served as the dining and living rooms if this were a conventional home, she paused to take a deep breath.
Mark. She could still smell him. Nothing as obtuse as cologne, although he'd been known to splash on a little Calvin Klein when they'd been dating, but a scent uniquely him. She once jokingly called it his policeman smell. He'd been offended until she'd assured him the pheromones turned her on.
Oddly buoyed by the memory, she walked to her suite and heated up a bowl of soup in the microwave. She could have gone across the street and eaten with her mother, but she didn't want to face Yetta’s questions. In her present state, Alexa might reveal her decision to have a baby. And she wasn't ready to do that.
For years, she'd convinced herself that working with kids was all she needed to feel good about her life, but now she wanted more. And if her plan had flaws, she didn't want to have them pointed out.
She was about to turn on the television—Could my life be any more boring?—when the doorbell rang. She left her soup on the counter and dashed to the front of the house, her heart racing. Mark?
Through the peephole she could see three people—one large and two small. The adult in the group was her cousin, Gregor, who lived across the street.
"Alexa, hi. Sorry to bother you, but your mom isn't home and I need a favor."
"What's up?" Alexa opened the door wide enough for them to enter. Nine-year-old Luca was nearly a foot taller than his five-year-old sister, Gemilla. Both had slightly petulant looks on their faces.
"I just got a call from Montevista. MaryAnn is having a bad night. Her doctor isn't answering his page and the nurses thought I might be able to help calm her down."
Greg's wife, MaryAnn, had suffered a breakdown last May and had been committed by a judge for observation and treatment. Although she'd been accused of committing blackmail and was partially responsible for Grace getting shot, MaryAnn was not a bad person.
"That's too bad. I thought she looked really good at Thanksgiving." Greg had brought his wife home on a three-hour pass to dine with the family. She'd seemed distant, but calm.
"I know. But she kinda went into a slump after that. Her doctor said that kind of yo-yo thing isn't uncommon with people suffering from clinical depression. The aide who called said she won't quit crying. I...I really need to run out there. Would you mind watching the kids?"
She opened her arms and Gemilla ran to her. “This is great. I was just fixing a crummy bowl of soup. Have you guys eaten? How 'bout pizza and a video at your house?"
Greg blinked rapidly. "You're a saint, cousin. Thanks. I'll call you as soon as I know something."
Two hours later, Alexa was snuggled under a thick throw on Gregor's couch, squeezed between a little girl who was sound asleep and a little boy who was intently focused on a movie from the family's collection.
Instead of watching the antics onscreen, she studied Luca's profile. "There's going to be a new boy coming to my after-school program tomorrow," she told him quietly.
He glanced at her, his dark eyes narrowing. "Who?"
"His name is Braden. He's younger than you. His father is an arson investigator."
"A cop?" His tone held utter disdain.
"I believe he's with the fire department, but you can ask him if you're curious."
"I hate cops. They arrested my mom."
“The police who were at the marina that day saved your mother's life, honey. And Grace's. And they helped rescue Maya when her father took her away." She paused. "Luca, what's going on? Have you been talking to your grandpa?" His gaze dropped and his cheeks flushed.
Oh, Uncle Claude, when will you let go of the old antipathy between Gypsies and the police? Her father, Kingston, and his younger brother, Claude, had been vocal opponents of all things having to do with law enforcement for as long as Alexa could remember. Her mother had once explained that Kingston had been arrested as a young man—a clear case of racial profiling long before the term had become commonplace.
When Alexa had first started dating Mark, she'd been afraid her father might have the young cop roughed up to discourage him from seeing her. Though that hadn't happened, Kingston had never warmed to her choice of fiancé. Although, to his credit, her father never said, "I told you so," after she and Mark had broken up.
"Listen, sweetie, I know how much you miss your mom. I miss her, too. But hopefully she'll be better soon and will be able to come home for good. Braden isn't that lucky. His mother died in an accident. His dad is like your dad— trying his best to be both a mother and a father, but Mark and Braden don't have a Romani family like ours around to help out. Maybe that's why Braden has a problem."
“What kind of problem?”
"You've been around the Hippo long enough to know that some children stutter a bit when they're first learning to speak. Well, Braden never outgrew that. In fact, his stuttering has gotten worse, and his father told me some of the kids at his school have made fun of him. So, now, he doesn't even try to talk."
Luca returned his gaze to the movie. After a minute, he sank down a bit more on the couch. He mumbled something. Fortunately, Alexa had become quite adept at hearing children's whispers.
"I'll play with him," he'd said.
She smiled and gently smoothed down a cowlick in his thick black hair. Maybe with Luca's help, they'd be able to reach this quiet child and bring a little light to the boy's sad, haunted eyes. Alexa knew that sometimes friendship and family could be the best medicine of all.
Chapter 5
Alexa pushed back the cuff of her heavy cotton sweater to check the time. The bus from Braden's school should have been here by now.
She'd called the school that morning to make sure they knew to bring the little boy to the Hippo and had been reassured that Mr. Gaylord had everything set up.
Of course, he would have, she'd thought. Mark was one of the most organized, responsible men she'd ever met. Which was one reason his tryst with Tracey had hurt and baffled Alexa so much. He wasn’t an impulsive person, but one impulsive act had changed both of their lives forever.
A low rumble from a block away made her step to the curb and look toward the sound. "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round," she sang before she could stop herself.
Darn, now that tune will be in my head for hours. One of the hazards of working with preschoolers every day, she knew.
But the thought disappeared the instant the door of the bus opened. A few seconds later a boy in a familiar jacket appeared at the top of the steps. He hesitated and looked over his shoulder at the bus driver, who nodded and said, "This is your stop, Braden. See you tomorrow."
Alexa had never met this particular bus driver before, but she believed in building a good rapport with everyone who had anything to do with the children she cared for, so she hopped up to the bottom step and held out her hand. "I'm Alexa. I run the Hippo."
The driver was female, about Alexa's age and African American. She leaned over and shook hands. “Nola. Nice to meet you. Take good care of this little guy. He doesn't say much, but he's a sweetheart."
"Will do," Alexa said, smiling down at her new charge. From her pocket, she produced a napkin that was carefully folded around one of the peanut-butter cookies that her preschool class had made that morning. "Here. I almost forgot."
The woman's eyes lit up. "Thanks. I love cookies."
"Me, too," Alexa said. To Braden, she asked, "What about you, young Mr. Gaylord? Are you ready for a snack? Milk and cookies at my place?"
He didn't answer, but she
was pretty sure she saw his head bob affirmatively. She reversed direction and stepped down, making sure her foot landed on the sidewalk, not in the gutter, then she waited for Braden to follow. She would have liked to see a bit more enthusiasm in his step, but she understood how scary this move was for him.
Once they were both safely away from the bus, the driver tooted the horn then stepped on the gas. Once again the "Wheels" song popped into her mind, but she stifled it and said, "So, Braden, I see you have your backpack. That's good. Are your practice cards inside it?"
He didn't answer, but he fell into step beside her as she headed toward the Dancing Hippo's front entrance. "When we get inside," she told him, "you'll hang up your coat on a hook that has your name above it. There's a cubbyhole, too, where you can keep your things and no one else is allowed to mess with your stuff. Okay?"
He looked up. The bright afternoon sun gave her her first clear look at his face. He looked so much like his mother Alexa fought to stifle a gasp. Alexa had only met Mark's partner half a dozen times when Alexa and Mark had been engaged, but the woman had left a vivid impression. Same perfect features, same beautiful blue eyes. Thankfully none of Tracey's trademark intensity was there. The woman had given off a vibe, for lack of a better word, that had made Alexa very uncomfortable—even before she'd stolen Mark.
Ten minutes later, Alexa was showing Braden to the “big kids' table,” as the younger students called it, when her niece suddenly rushed up. "You brought him, Auntie Alexa. Good job."
Maya often repeated words or phrases that the adults around her used. This time, the praise made Alexa smile.
"Why, thank you, Maya. I told you we were having a new student join us today."
Braden had frozen at the sound of Maya's voice and was watching the little girl as if she might be a threat. Alexa put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Braden, this is my niece, Maya."
A Match Made In Vegas Page 4