In A Heartbeat (HQR Superromance)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He’d learned that she hadn’t gone back to day camp. She didn’t know what teacher she’d have this year yet. When he asked if she was excited about school starting in less than two weeks, he got the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

  The breakthrough he thought they’d made, talking honestly about the tragedy, had been a one-off. Molly didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to see him.

  “You can be sick just as well here,” he told her now. “I’ll make you chicken-noodle soup, if you can keep it down, and rent some videos. I can give you hugs, too.”

  Silence.

  Grimly determined, Nate said, “Go get your mom, Molly. I’d like to talk to her.”

  More silence. Waiting, he presumed she was doing as he asked.

  “What?” his ex-wife snapped.

  “What’s up with Molly?”

  “She doesn’t want to go. What a surprise. Thash what happens when you let your daughter down nuff...e-nough times.” If she thought the careful correction helped, she was wrong.

  “You’re drunk,” he said flatly.

  “I’ve had a cup...couple a glash...glasses of white wine. So what?”

  She’d been drinking too much the last year of their marriage. He hadn’t liked it then, and he liked it even less now that Molly was alone with her. Too often, when they spoke in the evening, he could tell she was plastered. If he thought she was drinking when she and Molly went out... But, so far, he had no indication that happened.

  A lightning bolt struck. Had Sonja been taking nips from a bottle that day at the park? Was that what Mommy had been doing when Molly slipped away? Sickened, he wondered how he could find out.

  “I’m on my way to pick up Molly,” he said. “I’m legally entitled to have her, and considering your state, she’ll be safer with me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have her ready to go.”

  She was yelling at him when he cut her off. At least the other woman who had sliced and diced him recently hadn’t raised her voice.

  Nate sat for a minute in his car before he felt patient enough to join the crazy after-six-o’clock traffic in downtown Seattle, laid out with one-way north-south streets and steep east-west streets, all inadequate for the number of cars that poured out of parking garages at this time of day. Usually, he avoided the mess by staying late. Eight, even ten o’clock, although he could just as well answer emails and do his research on his laptop at home. Traffic, he knew, was only an excuse.

  He heard Sonja’s voice in his head. Some of us want an actual life.

  That stung, because she was right. He didn’t have a life outside work anymore. Why bother? He liked the highs and lows on the job better than he had living with Sonja’s wildly swinging moods. Until another man died saving Nate’s little girl, he hadn’t seen any reason to change.

  He shook his head and started the car. The one change he intended to make had to do with Molly. He wasn’t prepared to lose his daughter because his ex-wife had turned her against him.

  He was lucky enough to find a parking spot close to the thirty-floor tower where Sonja had bought a condo. When Sonja opened the door, he saw Molly on the sofa with a packed, pink bag beside her. His once bright, cheerful child sat with hunched shoulders, her hair hanging over her face.

  Sonja called him a few vicious names before he could usher Molly out. Once she was in the hall, he turned back and said quietly, “Next time, I’ll record you. You’d be smart to think twice before you use that kind of language in front of a seven-year-old child again.”

  The door slammed in his face.

  He took the bag from Molly and squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. When she stole a look at him, he said, “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  WEEKS LATER, ANNA still kept a sharp eye out whenever she left the house, with or without the kids. Catching the PI in the act had taught her a lesson. She’d never be so oblivious again when she went about her business. Mad as she was at Nate Kendrick, at least she didn’t have to worry that he’d use what he had learned to hurt her or the kids.

  Which didn’t mean she wasn’t humiliated all over again to find a message from him on her phone when she was waiting for her coffee to brew early Saturday morning.

  “Doesn’t look like your house has sold yet,” he said tersely. “My offer is still open. Job or cash settlement. Is your pride more important than your kids?”

  That was it. No “Hello,” no “Goodbye.” Her first, stupid thought was to wonder how he’d gotten her cell phone number. As if that mattered.

  She stood there in her kitchen, barefoot but otherwise dressed, because she didn’t have the luxury anymore of hanging around in her pajamas, not with the For Sale sign up at the foot of the driveway. Anger, humiliation, dented pride—yes, pride—and fear roiled inside her thanks to Nate Kendrick’s terse message.

  He was right. Dear God, he was right. But she’d meant it when she described his offer of a settlement as blood money. What if she had to explain to the kids someday that they’d been living on money from Molly’s dad, paid to alleviate his guilt? She had no doubt that, once she cashed the check, he’d breathe a sigh of relief and go back to his workaholic ways, confident he’d done the right thing. Men like him never made time for their children. They were too addicted to adrenaline, to the pursuit of what Anna’s grandfather had called “the almighty dollar.”

  But, with her stomach knotted, she had to face hard reality. If the bank evicted her and the kids, what would she do? Go to a shelter?

  She’d give anything to have family to fall back on, but there wasn’t anyone. After Mom died when Anna was eight, she had gone to live with Grandad. She was a sophomore in high school when he had his second stroke, after which she’d been placed in a foster home. His estate had put her through college. She’d been so sure she could take care of herself after that. If only she hadn’t married so quickly, gotten pregnant almost immediately.

  No, she couldn’t regret that. Those decisions had given her Josh and Jenna. She couldn’t unwish them.

  Anna poured herself a cup of coffee, adding more sugar and milk than usual in hopes of settling her stomach. She felt queasy even thinking about eating.

  “Mommy?” Still in her nightgown, Jenna wandered into the kitchen. “Josh told me to go away.”

  “Let me guess.” Anna smiled at her daughter. “You tried to wake him up.”

  A miniature Anna, Jenna looked mutinous. “He didn’t have to sound so mean.”

  “He also doesn’t need to get up for another hour. You know he isn’t a morning person.”

  “Like us,” Jenna said with satisfaction, leaning against her mother.

  Even as she felt the familiar sting of joy and fear, Anna bent down to hug her daughter. “That’s right. So what’s it going to be? Scrambled eggs and toast, or cereal?”

  “I want oatmeal,” she declared.

  Instant oatmeal, with lots of sugar, cinnamon and raisins, was a current favorite. Anna made herself have a small serving, too. Yesterday morning, she’d weighed herself before showering to find she’d lost nine pounds. No wonder her face had begun to look gaunt.

  After breakfast, she ran a bath for Jenna and sat with her while her little girl pretended she was a mermaid, which involved splashing half the water in the tub onto Anna and the floor. Anna laughed and played along while keeping an ear cocked for the sound of the doorbell.

  She had Jenna out of the bath and wrapped in a towel before she woke up her son. He chose oatmeal, too, and when she hustled both kids out to the car, he accepted the lunch she’d packed the night before. Normally Josh took the bus, but since she needed to do a few errands, she’d decided to let him sleep a little later and drive him, instead.

  Once at the elementary school, she watched until he met with friends and went inside before starting for the parking lot exit. When her phone rang, Anna braked and grabbed i
t from the cubby between the front seats.

  Alan Lang.

  Her heart drummed. This was early for him to be calling. Could he have received an offer on the house?

  Please, please, please.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NATE HAD TAKEN to driving by Anna’s house every few days. No Sold! banner had been tacked onto the For Sale sign planted in her yard.

  Twice he saw her.

  The first time, she was backing out of the garage, both kids with her. Probably on her way to drop her boy off at school. Nate was glad she didn’t see him even as he fretted about her car, which had to be ten years old, at least. The PI had told him that the Graingers owned a second, much newer vehicle, a Kia crossover, the Sorento. The Kia wasn’t in the garage. With her money tight, she’d been sensible to sell that one, even if it would have been more reliable. He wondered what else she’d had to sell.

  The next time he caught a glimpse of her she was setting off on a run, wearing formfitting shorts and a tank top that didn’t hide much of her long-legged slim body. She headed down the sidewalk the opposite way he was going. Unable to tear his eyes from the rearview mirror, Nate almost ran a stop sign at the corner.

  He called once more, not surprised when she didn’t answer. After the beep, he said simply, “Let me help, Mrs. Grainger. We can make it a loan, if you’d accept that. Once you’re on your feet again, you can pay me back.”

  When that time came, he wouldn’t cash her checks, but he didn’t say that.

  She failed to return his call.

  What he wanted to do was buy her damn mortgage so she and the kids could stay in the house. He might have done it if he hadn’t felt sure that, given her pride, she’d pack up and move away, leaving him with a modest ranch house he didn’t want and her without whatever pittance she’d get out of the sale. Then he’d have to sell the place himself and track her down to make her accept her equity. If there was any. After some of the sky-high surges in prices in the Seattle area, people found themselves having to sell houses for considerably less than what they’d paid for them only a year or two earlier.

  Checking the website of the real estate company listing her house, he saw that she’d had to drop the price a second time.

  Worry about Anna Grainger and her two kids might explain the burning in his stomach he had begun to suspect was an ulcer. Or maybe it was worrying about his own daughter that had him taking antacids like a chain-smoker reaching for his next cigarette before the last had burned down. Or was guilt doing the damage?

  He’d gotten tough with Sonja, which infuriated her. Without fail, Nate had Molly every other weekend. He also took her out to dinner at least once a week. Spending more time with her, he still couldn’t penetrate her shyness. Once in a while, they’d do okay talking about what kind of dog she wished she had or a movie or her new shoes. Anything touching on the accident, day camp and, especially, her mother shut her up fast.

  One positive: at least Molly was no longer in the same school as Josh Grainger. After the divorce, Sonja had chauffeured Molly to Bellevue so she could finish the school year with her friends. This fall, Molly had started in a Seattle elementary school.

  Of course, if that damn house ever sold, Josh would no longer go to Molly’s old elementary school, anyway.

  Nate called Molly several evenings a week, too, even if all he got were whispered responses. “Uh-uh.” Or “uh-huh.” Nate had to believe his persistence would eventually pay off. In his mind, persistence was an essential quality to achieve success in the business world. Brains helped—charm, too, and the ability to see the real motives of other people. But refusing to quit was number one.

  In his darker moments, he had to admit that persuading an investor to trust him might not be analogous to earning a seven-year-old girl’s trust, especially after he’d let her down in such a painful way. Had been letting her down since the divorce, he had come to see.

  And then there was the fact that Molly’s mother was undoubtedly bad-mouthing him.

  This was one of his off weekends. Nate went into the office for half a day Saturday, but was too restless to concentrate. Finally, he drove down to the waterfront and walked onto the ferry going to Bainbridge Island. It was something he did every few months when he needed to think. This being the first week of October, he was fortunate for such good weather.

  Today, he stood outside on the prow and turned his face into the cooling wind. Sunlight glinted off the water, and the Olympic Mountains reared crystal clear on the skyline. Not much snow on them, given the time of year, but they were jagged enough to be impressive, anyway.

  When Molly was younger, he’d taken her on ferry rides a few times. If the weather held, maybe they could do that some night this week. The sun was still up in the early evening, and he bet she’d be happy with the food from the café on board.

  For once, he tried not to think.

  Winslow was as beautiful as ever, with spectacular rocky beaches and cliffs, the picturesque small town tucked in a cove. A couple sailboats were making their way in or out of the marina right by the ferry terminal. Seagulls dove, screeching, and pelicans sat atop pilings. On occasion he’d considered buying a house here, commuting on the ferry instead of in his car. Maybe this would be a good time. He could bring Molly along to look at houses with him so she felt included in his choice.

  He actually did feel somewhat more relaxed by the time the ferry docked in Seattle and he walked to his car.

  At home he decided not to look at emails. He scanned his missed calls and texts, but didn’t return any of those, either. There was nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday.

  He’d have distracted himself by cooking something elaborate for dinner, but lately he hadn’t done well stocking the kitchen. He ended up starting coals in the grill outside, and having a steak and baked potato for dinner. Then he turned on the TV, coasted through fifty channels or so and turned it off.

  Mostly he read nonfiction because he never knew what knowledge would turn out to be useful in his job. Tonight he found a thriller he remembered buying and had never gotten to. It was gripping enough to keep his attention as the sun sank and shadows lengthened across the lake.

  Dark had fallen when his phone vibrated on the end table. It was later than most people called. He picked up the phone to see Sonja’s number. She might be just drunk enough to want to berate him.

  Nate rolled his shoulders and answered, anyway.

  “Daddy?” The voice was small and scared sounding.

  “Molly? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  “I can’t make Mommy wake up.”

  Oh, hell.

  “Where is she, punkin?”

  “She fell off the coach,” Molly whispered.

  “Did she hit her head?”

  “I don’t think so,” his little girl said uncertainly. “She was sick on the floor.”

  “All right. I’m on my way. I’ll call for an ambulance, too.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are,” he said as gently as possible. “But I think your mom will be fine, and I’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes. Okay?”

  Her answer was shaky.

  He’d never made the drive this fast. On the way, he called 911, repeating what Molly told him. If Sonja had dragged herself up by the time he and an ambulance crew got there, she’d be hideously embarrassed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Embarrassment was nothing compared to what she’d feel when he was done with her.

  Rotating lights seen from a couple blocks away let him know the aid car had beaten him here. He was able to park right behind it. The two medics, carrying equipment and with a rolling gurney, were talking to the doorman, who from the sound of it didn’t like taking responsibility for letting them into a condo without authorization from someone higher up in management. The doorman’s relief was obvious when he recognized
Nate, who joined the group and said, “I’m the one who called. I have a key.”

  A key he’d pried from a reluctant Sonja shortly after she purchased this condo. She’d finally conceded Molly might need him sometime. Like tonight, he thought grimly.

  They rode the elevator up to her floor. The minute he opened the door, he saw Sonja sprawled, unmoving, on the shaggy white rug by the sofa, a cascade of flame-red curls covering her face. Leaving his ex-wife to the EMTs, he called, “Molly?”

  Hair straggling from her braid, Molly appeared in the hall. Wearing only a nightgown, she was so pale that her freckles stood out. “Daddy?”

  He crouched. With a sob, she flung herself at him. His own eyes stung as she cried, her body shaking.

  Damn Sonja, he thought viciously. How could she do this to her child?

  Molly wiped her wet face on his shoulder and pulled back enough to whisper, “Is Mommy dead?”

  “I don’t think so.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the paramedics working over Sonja. “Tell you what, why don’t you go get dressed and pack a bag. You’re going home with me. I’ll see how your mom is doing. Okay?”

  She nodded, sniffled and retreated.

  Nate returned to the living room just as the EMTs shifted Sonja onto the gurney.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  The woman glanced at him. “Still unconscious. Given the, er, odor, we took the liberty of checking the trash beneath the kitchen sink. It’s half-full with hard-liquor bottles. She dropped a glass—” she nodded toward a side table “—that seems to have held gin.”

  He’d smelled it the minute he walked through the door. Sonja had loved martinis. Apparently, she’d quit bothering to add vermouth or an olive.

  “As you can see, she vomited. It was lucky she was lying on her side. She could have choked on it.”

  The man said, “Her breathing is irregular and slow, and she’s hypothermic. We need to take her in. She’ll likely be kept under observation overnight.” Expression sympathetic, he added, “You may want to tell your daughter she might have saved her mother’s life by calling you.”