He’d finally wrestled down the last remnants of fury when his phone rang.
Private caller.
“What now?” He snapped, expecting Declan Whyte’s retaliation from being hung up on.
“I’m sorry, Finn. This is Trisha Bollivar, from the group home. Is now a bad time for a visit? I’m afraid I have some news.”
Switching gears, his anger melted away and equal concern filled in its place. “I’ll be right there.”
With each step the weathered boards groaned the swan song of the weary, aging house. The aching sound beneath Finn’s feet resounded yet another failure as it shuddered through him.
Why hadn’t he replaced that loose, splintered board before the winter weather settled in? Someone could get hurt. And that wobbling banister was certainly not up to code. There was so much to do. So much need. And Finn was certainly no hero.
The house served as a reminder of that.
The gutters were constantly spilling over from the clogging remnants of autumn leaves. A dusty black shutter had slipped loose during a storm and hung diagonally across an opaque window. And the roof, well, Finn had done some patching to remedy a few leaky spots but the whole thing needed to go. Everything about the house seemed to sag—as if it were a vestibule for the forgotten.
The screen door whined, the sound trailing away on the bitter wind. Finn rapped on the next peeling red door. And when that door echoed a wail on its equally rusty, old hinges it revealed a compassionate Trisha Bollivar—looking as stressed and pained as the old, moaning house.
The middle-aged woman had started the group home over twenty years ago, after losing her husband and newborn son to carbon monoxide poisoning while she worked the night shift as a nurse, turning her tragedy into a purpose.
Trisha stepped back to let him in, and he noticed the tight strain of her tired gray eyes shadowed under the new entry light Finn had installed last month. “How is she?”
She shook her head, the chestnut brown of her wispy hair now overrun with an overgrowth of coarse white making her fifty years seem more like seventy. The woman looked overworked and undernourished, but she did the best she could to give these kids a stable intermediate home before they could be permanently placed, or in some cases, reunited with their parents.
“I tried to explain it, but I’m afraid she didn’t quite understand. She’s pretty upset and wouldn’t stop asking for you.”
He tipped his head toward the hallway. “She in her room?”
With a sad smile, Trisha nodded. “I was thinking maybe you could take her out if you’re not too busy. Chrissy has a visit from a couple who are working toward her adoption in an hour. Probably be best if lil’ miss isn’t here for that.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to take her. It’s still early, so I’ll have all day to cheer her up. What time is naptime again?”
“Around two o’clock. But she hasn’t been sleeping well the past week.” The woman wrung her frail hands together—hands that somehow managed to carry all the pain and worry for the six young girls under her care.
Finn touched her shoulder. “I’ll bring her back before bedtime. Give you a little break.”
As he started down the hallway he allowed a miniscule touch of pride. Contrary to the abysmal exterior, the little improvements he’d made to the interior of the run-down Victorian house over the past few months had really made it feel like a home. A slap of fresh paint in a pale, friendly yellow made the rooms glow with warmth and cheer. New overhead light fixtures chased away the dim casts of spooky shadows from previously drab, lamp-lighted rooms.
The floors were newly refinished and glossy, tested by Finn and the girls upon completion to be sock-slideable. The plumbing was now functional, and the musky old air that had plumed from the gritty vents newly filtered and healthy since he’d cleaned out the ducts.
The efforts weren’t enough to turn the home into a showpiece, but compared to the wreck he’d stumbled upon almost five months ago, it was becoming a place where a kid could flourish under a nurturing hand.
The soles of his Converse squeaked on the smooth surface as he traversed the hall. When he got to the right door it flew open.
“Finn! You came!”
And his heart melted right there, as the little girl, so innocent and forgiving, launched into his arms and refused to let go.
Chapter 31
Joselyn Whyte
“You have one unheard message. First unheard message,” the prim voicemail lady announced as Joselyn sat at the coffee shop in Downtown Kirkwood, lazing over a steaming Zen tea after having spent a few hours at her shop.
The day might have seemed commonplace thus far, but a normal day wouldn’t have her under the guard of several menacing shadows. One in the form of a behemoth U.S. Marshal poised a few tables away. Two incognito FBI agents stationed outside the building. And an additional two squad cars patrolling the area.
She wasn’t sure if her father had some influence over the excessive protective measures or if the well-meaning overkill was courtesy of her new friends at the FBI, but she wasn’t about to balk at feeling smothered.
Unease raked over her skin at the mere thought of being watched, preyed upon, but why hide away? Having almost been cremated in her bed, and then narrowly escaping being blown to bits in her state-of-the-art secured vehicle, it seemed nowhere was particularly safe.
“Hey, Joss, it’s me.”
Nowhere.
Her heart quickened. The trill of his voice feathering down her spine. It’s me. They’d developed a familiarity in two short weeks of make believe that made her crave something just like it, only real.
“I’ll be a little tied up to—” Cut off by a crash in the background, his voice muffled words for someone else—something not meant for Joselyn’s ears. Something that sounded suspiciously like, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Whatever came next was more adequately muted by Finn’s hand. His words from before came unbidden, calling her a fool. You, Joselyn Whyte, are the only girl I’m seeing.
Kicking back in at full volume, he stuttered, fumbling for words through a scatter of “ums” and “uhs”—like he knew he was busted. “Anyways, Archer assured me you were well covered for today. And as I’m sure your father informed you, we have round two of our first date Friday night. Can’t wait. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He hesitated.
Was he feeling guilty for lying through his teeth? And what must this sweetheart be thinking about his tactless plans for a date with another woman right in front of her?
“Stay safe, okay, princess?”
And that was it. But it didn’t make sense. They’d been spending all their time together. Well, almost. Except Saturdays.
And then, like the ever popular light bulb analogy, a name illuminated from the corner of her mind.
Kendi.
Uncontrollable indignation raged in her chest. The calming effects of her brew overrun with her heated scorn. Zen tea, my eye.
Rising with resolve to sort out the truth of this—no longer only—tabloid hearsay, Joselyn marched out of the café, conveniently located below Finn’s apartment, and went to go catch him red-handed.
The gun-toting marshal on her heels might come in handy should she find Finn in a compromising position with the little minx.
The thought of his betrayal, although fake, felt so real she had the fleeting inclination to run. Run to protect her heart from the ugly truth behind his door. But she was tired of running. Tired of letting other people dictate who she needed to be.
Make me strong.
The prayer slipped from her soul on an effortless breath and was instantly forgotten.
Doing her best to calm the spasms she’d worked up in her chest, she raised her hand to the door and froze. Did she really have a right to come barging into his life?
He certainly didn’t mind barging into yours.
She thought of all the ways he’d been leading her to believe that he cared—and not only when people were w
atching.
The surge of warm fuzzies from the memories died when she heard the TV sound from behind his door. She hadn’t even bothered to check for his truck outside, and since a woman was leaving when Joselyn and her hulk had entered the building she hadn’t needed to buzz up to confirm. But he was definitely here.
Breathing in a lungful of courage, she knocked.
“Hang tight, I’ll get the door and grab the popco—” The crescendo of his voice met an abrupt end. She could feel his presence just beyond the door.
Slowly, the door inched open enough to allow Joselyn a tall drink of a gorgeous and … guilty man.
“What are you doing here?” Pulling the door tight against his side, Finn’s eyes shifted, taking in the mammoth bodyguard a few feet behind her.
She crossed her arms and let her glare do the talking.
“Joss, I … uhh …” The silence was thick enough to braid. His eyes were so conflicted she about caved and walked away, letting him keep whatever secret was tormenting his conscience.
But the long-ignored hurt rapped against her breastbone, so she grabbed her gumption by the boots—er, heels. “Thought you couldn’t wait to see me.” Raising an eyebrow, she pinned him in place with her stare, needing the truth, no matter how painful.
The cornered rat released a helpless sigh, his broad shoulders collapsing in surrender, and then he checked open the door with a bump of his shoulder. “Come on in.”
With confidence that felt as plastic as brunette Barbie, Joselyn prompted her legs to strut through the door like she belonged. The glittering sound of the Disney introduction “When You Wish Upon a Star” filtered through the room drawing Joselyn’s eyes to the couch where she saw … a little girl?
What?
Unable to move, she stared as the adorable little toddler—maybe three years old—slid off the cushion, scurried on Hello Kitty socks across the room, and hid behind Finn’s legs. Tiny fingers gripped his track pants and luminous pale blue eyes, fearful and round as saucers, peered around his thigh for a split second before she buried her face again.
Joselyn darted a glance between the two. Was this Kendi? Was she—gulp—Finn’s daughter? Just when she thought she might be warming to him, she felt the cold settle back in—freezing over the parts of her heart Finn had kindled to life.
Why had he never mentioned her? The shame on his face and the air of secrecy made her sick with memories of her childhood. Her father’s neglect. The way he hid her from the world as if he were ashamed to have her for a daughter. A shiny layer of deceit coating every word and deed to bolster his ego and greed.
Maybe Finn and Declan had more in common than she thought.
Waiting for an explanation, Joselyn conveyed her furious questions across the divide with the hardest look she could uncover. His lack of a response was quickly rectifying the old barrier between them. And that space, while only a few feet, might as well have been the Grand Canyon for the lonely echo of her heart.
How could she have been so blind? What a fool she was to purge the truth to him when he’d fed her only lies. Was any of this real?
Of course it wasn’t. Stupid! This whole thing was a farce. And so far the only one who was buying it was her.
An awkward grating noise emerged from Finn’s throat before he spoke. “This is Kendi.” Right, as if that explained everything.
The little angel-faced toddler stuck her head out to steal another glance at the strange mute woman who had barged in, probably scaring the little girl senseless.
Joselyn’s fiery scorn simmered with one glance. Never had she seen a more beautiful and enchanting little girl. Big blue eyes, tiny little button nose, and the most adorable sandy-colored puff of tight and frizzy curls.
But she didn’t much look like Finn. If he was indeed her father, the child’s mother must be at least part black—the bronze, honeyed tint of her skin contradicted the rest of her coloring.
Shooting one last questioning glance at Finn to fess up proved useless. So she crouched down, avoiding his eyes all together. Maybe for good. It would certainly help in regaining her sanity.
“Hi, Kendi. My name is Joselyn, I’m a … uh … friend of your …”
What was he to her? Sperm donor, friend, Brownie leader? What? I mean, the man could perhaps take a moment to explain himself. He certainly wasn’t shy about flapping his gums most of the time. And yet somehow, now was when the big dumb ox finally found his filter. Perfect timing.
“A friend of his,” she amended, extending her hand and a sincere smile.
Kendi shrank back behind his leg, her slender little arms, encased in a neon pink shirt, clung to him.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” The familiar way Finn’s hand reached back and brushed over the little girl’s curls made Joselyn love him and hate him all the more. Manually loosing Kendi’s arms, he bent down and hugged her to his side. “Kendi, this is my very special friend, Joselyn. She came over to meet you.” His eyes locked with Joselyn’s, pleading something unspoken and much too loaded to fully comprehend.
Joselyn held on to his gaze as long as she could, trying to piece it all together. But then a tiny hand stretched out to meet her so Joselyn gave Kendi her full attention.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kendi. My, what a pretty little girl you are. Whatcha watching?” Joselyn angled her head toward the TV, and the little girl lit into a shy grin.
“Cinderella.” The meek and heartbreakingly sweet sound about made Joselyn cry.
Smiling, Joselyn revved up her excitement. “Cinderella! She’s my favorite fairytale princess.”
“Me too!” Kendi squeaked.
“Not Snow White?” Finn smirked.
Oh, now he’s got something to say.
Joselyn ignored him. “Oh, look. I love this part. There’s Gus Gus.”
Kendi nodded in agreement and smiled as the stout little mouse on screen was fitted with a red shirt and booties.
Joselyn could feel Finn’s eyes devouring her, but she refused to look at him. “Would you mind if I watch a little bit with you? I’ve got some hot pink nail polish in my purse that would match your pretty shirt perfectly. We could paint our nails?”
Her heart soared when Kendi’s little face came alive, pixie dust sparkling in her bright eyes.
“Okay!” Dainty little fingers wrapped around Joselyn’s hand, and Kendi led her to the couch where they sat and played beauty shop. Joselyn got to be the fairy godmother to princess Kendirella. The play on words made the little girl giggle every time she said it.
They watched the lovelorn girl fall for the handsome prince and live happily ever after, and Joselyn did everything in her power to fight back a cynical—and far too unladylike—snort that might shatter a young girl’s dreams of fairytale endings.
The heat radiating from Finn’s gaze was too intense to ignore as the two lovebirds rode off in the wedding carriage on screen. So she dug deep for her courage and met his gaze for the first time since the movie had started, pouring all her hurt from his distrust and his lies into her eyes.
Kendi stirred on her lap with a sniffle and tell-tale eye rub before flopping back into the crook of Joselyn’s now tingling arm. The movement effectively cut the tie that had been rebuilding a bridge between them without her permission. Kendi’s long lashes came to rest on her cherubic cheeks, and unable to deny the small affection, Joselyn swept the pad of her thumb over that downy skin, love tugging at her so hard a piece of her heart pulled away.
“Nap time,” Finn whispered.
They both rose, and Finn closed the space, pressing against them to gather Kendi from Joselyn’s arms. The exchange of the sleeping angel tangled their arms. When Joselyn looked up time slowed and the deep chug of her pulse thundered in her ears.
More passed between them than seemed possible without words.
Feeling her shield of anger falling away, she unwound her arms and deposited the Sleeping Beauty in his possession.
“I want Josh-wyn put me to
bed.” Sleepy eyes batting, Kendi rested her head on Finn’s shoulder but reached out a limp arm to Joselyn.
“How about I carry you up, and Joss will tuck you in?” His eyes softened in question, begging Joselyn to trust him.
Kendi’s only response was a yawn. So Joselyn followed Finn up the stairs to his bedroom, helplessly drawn to the memory of the last time she’d been here, bluffing her way around her attraction and yes, playing with fire.
Something she knew she’d been toying with ever since.
While Finn eased Kendi down atop his made bed, Joselyn went to retrieve a spare blanket draped over an armchair and brought it to cover the teensy little body.
The expanse of the king-sized bed and the ocean of blankets surrounding the small child tempted Joselyn to climb in and snuggle away any loneliness Kendi might feel.
But Finn’s hand enveloped hers and persuaded her toward the stairs. Ready for answers, she let him tug her along until—
“Josh-wyn, do you know a bedtime sto-we?”
Joselyn slipped her hand free of Finn’s and whispered, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Chapter 32
Finn Carson
Finn stalled near the top of the stairs, out of sight.
“Bedtime story, hmm … I could make one up or I think I might remember a song my mom used to sing to me before bed.”
Kendi must have nodded her response because Joselyn voice was the only reply. “All right, the song it is.”
Unable to help himself, he inched forward so he could peer around the corner to take in the scene. The sugary sweetness in Joselyn’s voice struck the center of his chest like a battering ram.
From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two Page 23