by Dana Corbit
“She told me.”
His eyes were shiny when he turned back to her, but it might have been just from the fancy streetlights that lit the walking path through the woods. She’d been ready to be angry with him because Emma had chosen him over her, but it was hard to hold a grudge against someone so obviously moved by the story.
“Don’t tell me you sang it to her, too, or I’m going to give up right now and crawl into a hole.”
He smiled at that. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that. No kid deserves that kind of punishment.”
“You mean you’re not good at everything?”
“Not by a long shot. Do you sing it to her when you read it?”
“Oh, no. I happen to like my niece.”
“Funny.” Appearing more relaxed than he had been since coming outside, he backed away from the rail and settled into the second chair, with a tiny table between them.
She stared out into the same night that Joe had been watching with faraway thoughts a few minutes before. “Delia had an amazing singing voice.”
His only answer was a nod.
“That was just one of the things she was good at.” She couldn’t help smiling at the memory of the sister she adored. “Everybody loved her. She was smart and beautiful and generous. Voted both Homecoming Queen and ‘Most Likely to Succeed.’ She was amazing.”
“Sounds like it.”
“She was a doctor, you know.”
“Your parents mentioned it.”
There was a flash of something unreadable in his eyes, but he didn’t say more.
“She could have gone into any specialty, but she chose family practice because she thought she could help the most people that way.” Lindsay smiled again. “Did you know she was still in her residency when her husband died? Complications from diabetes. She still managed to finish the program and join a group practice, all while still being a great mom to Emma.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was.”
“Didn’t you say you also worked in the medical field?”
The surprise on Lindsay’s face over his question bothered Joe. Was she shocked that he remembered that she’d mentioned her work, or that he was more interested in knowing about her than her late sister?
“I’m an ultrasound technician.”
When she didn’t say more, he asked, “You said you worked in a doctor’s office?”
“A women’s practice.” She repositioned herself as though her leg was becoming stiff again. “Most of my ultrasounds are on OB patients.”
“It sounds like fun work.”
“Sometimes.”
Joe waited and kept waiting. Okay, he could imagine times when her work would be difficult—when the test showed abnormalities or worse—but still, he would have expected her to tell him how much she enjoyed introducing parents to their babies for the first time. To at least tell him a little more.
“So…how long have you worked as a state trooper?”
She was watching him when he looked over at her. He answered her questions—ten years on the force, a commendation on his record—but it bothered him that she’d changed the subject.
Why was Lindsay more comfortable talking about Delia’s accomplishments than her own? Had someone led her to believe that her achievements were less valuable than her sister’s, or was it just survivor’s guilt that made Lindsay gush about Delia? He’d already gotten the sense that Lindsay had no idea how beautiful she was, but was there more to it? Did she see herself as second-class?
“Was your sister a runner like you?”
Again, she looked surprised, as if he’d discovered a long-buried secret or something. “I saw all those certificates and medals in the hall.”
“Oh. Right. I used to run 5Ks. But Delia? Oh, no. She said, for her to run three-point-one miles, there’d better be a mall at the finish line.”
She was grinning as she said it, so he grinned back, pleased that he’d found something she’d done better than her sister. It was unkind to think like this about someone who’d passed away, but Joe could only imagine how hard it had been for Lindsay to compete against an overachieving sibling who was even more revered in death.
“Are you a runner, too?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, are you a runner?”
He didn’t miss that she’d just excluded herself from the group. “Me? A runner? No way. I’d rather have all of my fingernails pulled off with pliers.”
“Pliers?”
“Maybe nothing that violent, but you get the picture.”
“But you do something. It’s obvious you work out.”
“Is it?”
Her only answer was a crimson flush that spread even to her ears. It was hardly a new thing for Joe to have women noticing him. He didn’t miss the furtive looks, but he rarely thought twice about them. So why was he impressed that Lindsay had all but admitted she’d been looking? She had to be the first woman who seemed so humiliated that he knew she’d been looking, though, so he let her off the hook.
“I just do weight training mostly. And the stair climber for cardio.”
“It’s healthy to do something.”
“From all those awards, I’m guessing you’re a pretty good runner. Your parents have to be so proud.” The last he added on impulse, based on an instinct he used to be able to trust before and hoped he still could.
“That’s in the past. It was just a hobby, anyway.”
When he glanced at her, she was staring at the deck boards beneath her bare feet rather than at him. She’d said running was in her past. Probably six months and one pelvis fracture ago. Another thing she’d lost with the accident. She’d called running a hobby when her wall of certificates suggested a passion. She hadn’t even answered his question about her parents, and he could guess why. He suspected that all had not been well with the Collins family long before the accident.
“Well, it’s getting late,” she said.
Joe glanced down at his watch, sorry he’d brought up the certificates. It was only 8:45 p.m., a good curfew for sixth-graders. “So it is.”
For someone who’d invited him to stay after dinner, she was suddenly in a hurry for him to leave. So much for the iced tea. Well, she’d allowed him to stay for dinner when she would have preferred for him to go, so he could be gracious now.
“Yeah, I should be getting home. Work’s going to come awfully early tomorrow.”
She didn’t argue, but stood and opened the slider so she could lead him through to the front door. He followed, matching her slower pace. When she reached the door, she turned back to him and straightened her shoulders.
“I appreciate your coming here, even though I didn’t exactly encourage it. Come to think of it, I emphatically discouraged it, but thank you anyway…for Emma’s sake. I’m even thanking you for the tips.”
“You’re welcome, I think.” He’d been looking for an opportunity, so he pulled a card from his wallet. With a pen from the end table, he wrote on it and held it out to her. “Here. That’s my personal cell on the back. Call me. I mean…you know…if you have any problems with Emma.”
Lindsay shook her head and stared at his hand until he lowered it.
“Look, I understand that you’re concerned about Emma, but you don’t need to be. Thank you again, but we won’t be needing any further help.” She nodded as if to emphasize her point. “Emma and I will be just fine on our own. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Still, he couldn’t help but lift his hand and extend the card again. “Here, take this anyway. Just in case.”
Joe couldn’t explain it. He wasn’t suggesting that Lindsay couldn’t make it on her own, but it had become important to him that he left something of himself behind with her. Whether or not she called, he liked knowing she could. After tonight, he would have no reason to ever see her again. No legitimate reason. He could keep coming up with excuses as he had tonight, but stalking was a misdemeanor in Michigan. Even a felony with aggravated cir
cumstances. Hadn’t he aggravated her enough already?
She stared at the card for a long time, but finally she reached out to take it. He didn’t miss that she was careful not to let their fingers brush. That was probably a good idea. He’d already experienced the electric shock of touching Lindsay Collins. It wouldn’t be in his best interest to repeat that.
“Thanks, but I won’t need it.” Instead of holding on to the card, she set it on the table next to the pen. She pulled open the front door and then pushed the storm door wide and looked back at him.
Stepping through the doorway, he couldn’t resist one more look back at her. “Thanks for dinner.”
After they said their goodbyes, she pulled the storm door closed, shut the door behind it and clicked two locks. Joe stood there, feeling discarded in a way he couldn’t remember ever having been before. Finally, he started down the walk to his truck. But disconcerting thoughts slipped inside the cab with him, buckling themselves in the passenger seat and refusing to budge.
What was it about Lindsay Collins that made it so hard for him to get her out of his mind? She was facing so many challenges. Even parents who didn’t appear to be in her corner. But he’d never seen anyone as determined do to anything as Lindsay was to be a good guardian.
She probably wouldn’t get everything right the first time, but she wouldn’t stop trying. The child victims in the tragic domestic-assault cases he’d investigated would have given anything to have someone try that hard for them.
It was probably best that he wouldn’t see Lindsay after today. If he did spend time with her, he would only be tempted to become friends with her. Or worse. That just couldn’t happen. He couldn’t allow himself to become too involved. Letting his guard down had gotten him into trouble both in his personal life and on the job. Shouldn’t he learn from his mistakes?
Just because he wouldn’t be spending more time with her didn’t mean he didn’t want her to succeed, though. He might not get the chance to watch her as she took each step along the learning curve to become the best guardian she could be, but, at least in his thoughts, he would be rooting for her every step of the way.
Chapter Five
With trembling hands, Lindsay dug her cell phone out of her purse and fumbled with the buttons. She didn’t want to dial the number—it felt like admitting defeat—but this was what she had to do.
It didn’t matter that it was nearly 2:00 a.m. or that just over twenty-four hours earlier she’d said she didn’t need the number. But this wasn’t about her. It was about Emma, and Lindsay would do anything to ensure that the child was okay. Well, except call her parents. Anything but that. But she could do this for her niece, and she would swallow her pride with barely a sour taste to do it.
She cast another worried glance at the top of the stairs where Emma stood, continuing to sob.
Lindsay had tried. In the more than an hour since Emma had awakened from a nightmare screaming, Lindsay had held her, brushed back her hair and rubbed her back. But nothing she did comforted Emma even a little. The child had just continued wailing and asking for her mommy.
The one thing Lindsay couldn’t give her.
Sometimes she even cried for Trooper Joe.
Lindsay had prayed often during this time, too, but Emma had just kept on crying. But then Lindsay had remembered her minister’s words about part of praying being listening for God’s call to act. She had to act now. She might not be able to give Emma her mommy, but she could fulfill her second request.
Emma couldn’t keep going like this or she would make herself sick. And then there were the neighbors to worry about, people living only a wall away in their attached condos. Would someone call the police because they were disturbing the peace?
Because she hadn’t entered the number in her contacts, she read it from the card and dialed. He answered on the second ring.
“Rossetti.”
“Joe? I mean…Trooper Joe…ah, Trooper Rossetti?”
“Lindsay? Is that you? Is everything all right? Just relax and tell me.”
She would have thought that he’d just recognized her number from his cell’s caller ID, but she hadn’t given him her number. Still, he’d known her voice, even probably coming out of a REM sleep cycle. Immediately, a rush of calm flooded through Lindsay, although she couldn’t decide whether it was his words or his soothing voice. She cleared her throat, but he didn’t give her a chance to talk.
“Lindsay? Lindsay?” His voice was louder this time, not calm at all. “What is that sound?”
She glanced over her shoulder to find that Emma had scooted farther down on the stairs and was sitting on a step, looking pitiful and small as she continued crying.
“It’s Emma,” she called out, trying to talk over the noise. “She had a nightmare, and she’s hysterical. Nothing I do seems to help.” She cleared her throat and then shoved right through her pride. “Would you be willing—”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
He clicked off the call before she could say thank you. Or change her mind. She wouldn’t allow herself to second-guess anyway. Joe was coming. She didn’t care if forty-eight hours ago she had insisted she didn’t need any help from anyone, Joe least of all. Now she was just relieved he was willing to help.
Unlocking the door, Lindsay climbed halfway up the staircase and sat on a step, using the rail to steady herself in the absence of her cane. Still sobbing, Emma scrambled into her lap and curled into a little-girl ball.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” she whispered, as she brushed back Emma’s sweaty hair, so soft and dark like her mother’s. “We’re going to be okay.”
From her perch on the staircase, Lindsay rocked the precious cargo in her arms, the edge of the step biting into her back every time she rocked backward. She didn’t know any lullabies, so she hummed “The Old Rugged Cross” instead. Closing her eyes, she let the song be a prayer.
Lindsay didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard a quiet knock on her front door and then the turn of the unlocked doorknob. It took her a second to realize that she’d heard both of those sounds because Emma was no longer making any noise. The child curled against her was asleep. Lindsay couldn’t believe her eyes.
Joe stuck his head inside the door and looked around the room. “Lindsay?”
“Up here,” she answered, just above a whisper.
He glanced up, his gaze stopping on the two of them. “So everything’s okay?”
She lifted a shoulder and lowered it, causing Emma to shift on her lap. “False alarm, I guess.”
“Probably just tripped it a little prematurely.”
“Maybe.”
Joe closed the door behind him. “Interesting place for rocking.”
“Whatever it takes.”
He nodded as if he understood that ignoring her pride and calling him was whatever it took that night.
“Do you want me to help you get her to bed?”
Lindsay moved her leg and winced. “I’m so stiff that I might need some help up.”
“Let’s see what we can do.”
We. She liked the sound of that. It didn’t make her feel so alone. She allowed him to lift Emma, and then she tightened the belt on her bathrobe over her pajamas and settled back to wait. He would get to her after he put Emma back in her bed.
“You’re going to have to help me out here,” he said. “I won’t have enough hands if you don’t reach up to me.”
“Oh. Right.”
As she raised a hand to him, he shifted Emma’s weight to one side, so he could pull Lindsay to her feet with the other hand. She ignored the tingle on her skin where their hands had connected. Why did she feel that way every time he touched her?
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ve got it from here.” She clasped the rail, wincing at the dull ache in her hip.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Appearing skeptical, he started up the
stairs, and she followed behind him. In Emma’s room, he lowered the child on the bright pink sheets she’d torn apart during her nightmare. Lindsay straightened the bedding and tucked the top sheet under Emma’s chin. She kissed that mass of dark hair and started for the door, but when she turned back Joe was dropping a kiss on the child’s head as well. The moment was so touching that a knot of emotion formed in her throat.
“I’m sorry for calling,” Lindsay said, after they’d stepped outside the room and closed the door behind them.
“Why would you be sorry?”
She let him go down the stairs first and then gripped the rail and followed him in a slow, step-together-step pattern. “Because I called you in the middle of the night, woke you up and made you come here, and then I didn’t even really need any help.”
“Did you think you needed it when you called?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“Then I’m glad you trusted me enough to call.” He turned back to her when he reached the landing. “I wasn’t asleep when you called, anyway.”
She lifted a brow. “A fan of late-night infomercials?”
“Insomnia. It’s a recent condition.”
“Well, the least I can do after you came to my rescue is to offer you a cup of chamomile to help you sleep when you get back home.” She led the way into the kitchen.
“I won’t go back to bed,” he said, but he still followed her. “I have to be to the post by oh-six-hundred hours.”
“Sorry. Really.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” He tilted his head to the side and studied her. “What about you? Sure you wouldn’t rather send me out so at least one of us can catch some shut-eye?”
“I won’t be able to sleep now, either. Neither will any of my neighbors.”
She put the kettle on the stove and pulled two mugs and the box of chamomile tea from the cabinet. After Lindsay placed a bag in each mug, Joe carried them to the table.
“So, should we invite them over for tea, too?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t earn a ‘Neighbor-of-the-Month Award’ this morning. I’m feeling blessed that I’m a homeowner rather than a renter. Otherwise, Emma and I would be out on the street.”