by Loree Lough
“Nice and easy now,” he instructed as she made a U-turn and headed back for the hotel. “Hey, where you goin’?” he demanded, reaching for the steering wheel. “We haven’t had our talk yet.”
Jaina didn’t know why the Lord would turn a deaf ear to her pleas. She only knew that if Bill continued jerking on the steering wheel, they’d end up….
When she came to, she couldn’t feel anything from her waist down, couldn’t see past the white-hot pain that filled her head each time she opened her eyes. She remembered the way Bill’s big hand had clamped over hers on the wheel, the way trees and fence posts whizzed by at breakneck speed as the car lurched toward the ravine beside the road. Her screams were still echoing in her ears as she lay there, gasping, panting as those last terrifying seconds ticked through her memory in sickeningly slow motion….
The sudden jerk of the car as it tilted right, the sound of branches and rocks pummeling the undercarriage…
…the giant tree, looming closer, closer.
She had no idea a vehicle that could hum so quietly while on the road could make such a hideous sound upon impact.
Then blackness, and total silence.
Had it been minutes, or hours, that she lay there in the dark, paralyzed, terrified? Jaina only knew that at the sound of distant sirens, she began to cry tears of relief, softly at first. By the time the paramedics yanked open the door that groaned in protest, her sobs had blocked the questions hammering in her head: Where’s Bill? Is he all right?
Two days later, Jaina learned she was being accused of vehicular manslaughter. The authorities didn’t believe her when she said Bill had jerked the wheel, sending the car careening out of control.
Jaina didn’t know exactly when she’d stopped hating herself. The self-loathing was restricted to those times when she stupidly allowed herself to glance in a mirror. When she saw the scars twisting and turning across her abdomen, then she hated herself. Then there was no escaping the fact that in that moment in time, she’d made one terrible decision, and it had cost her the ability to have children…the one thing she’d always wanted more than anything else in the world.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. Even through her pajama top, Jaina could feel the disfigurement that would be a permanent reminder of that night. Thanks to the operation, performed in haste by a surgical resident mere hours after the accident, a child would never grow in her womb. They’d made the decision without discussing it with anyone—not her parents and certainly not Jaina—and the surgery that had saved her had, in her estimation, destroyed her.
She’d never been a particularly vain woman. Even now, as she ran her fingers over the thick, ugly scars, Jaina knew the deformity wouldn’t have bothered her…if it wasn’t a reminder that she’d never have her own children.
Liam whimpered in his sleep, rousing Jaina from the horrible memories. She ran to him, scooped him up, held him tight. “You’re all right,” she crooned into his ear. “I’ll never let anything hurt you, I promise.”
It’s what she had expected the Lord to do that night—scoop her up in His Almighty embrace, put a stop to anything that could harm her—and promise that she’d always be safe in His protection.
She carried Liam to the living room and snuggled with him in the recliner. The Bible was still on the coffee table where she’d left it, open to the verse in Psalms that had given her such peace as a child.
Anger and disappointment made her turn her face from it. She focused instead on Liam’s sleepy eyes. He was so much like the way she’d been before that night: vulnerable, innocent, completely dependent on bigger, more powerful beings for care and protection. But that night had changed her dramatically and forever.
Never again would she trust those who claimed to be wiser than her. Never again would she have faith in mere words. Actions, life had taught her, were stronger and more powerful than any promise ever made.
Except one. “You can always count on me, sweetheart,” she said, kissing his forehead. “I promise.”
They had a lot in common, Jaina and this helpless baby.
He needed her.
And more than anything, she needed him.
Chapter Six
The phone was ringing when Connor unlocked the office door, and he fumbled with his keys, briefcase and file folders in an attempt to grab it before the answering machine picked up.
He glanced at the digital clock on Pearl’s desk. Eight fifty-five. She didn’t get in until nine sharp. He had this theory that she stood just outside the door every morning, tapping her toe and staring at the minute hand of her watch, waiting for it to hit the twelve before making her entrance.
“Law office,” he droned, dumping his load on Pearl’s armless chair.
“G’morning. It’s Jaina.”
As if she had to identify herself. He’d thought about her—and her past—long into the night. Connor’s heart lurched at the sound of her musical voice. “I didn’t expect to be talking to you until tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t expect to be calling, but…”
He noted the careful pronunciation, the slow pace of her words. “Is Liam all right?”
“He’s fine. In fact, he stood on his own for the first time last night.”
Spoken like a true mother, he thought, grinning, proud of her boy’s latest achievement. Connor felt a pang of guilt, knowing that her mothering days were quickly drawing to a close…thanks to the paperwork he’d filed the prior afternoon.
“The reason I called,” she said slowly, “is because I got a letter from Kirstie in yesterday’s mail. I thought maybe you’d like to…”
O’Dell had tracked the girl as far as Milwaukee but hadn’t been able to get any further in his search for Connor’s niece. Every night since she’d left Liam with Jaina, the last thoughts in his head before drifting off to sleep had been of Kirstie. Every night except last night, when he’d lain awake thinking of that article about Jaina…. “Does she say where she is?”
“No, she still doesn’t want to be found.”
“Does she say how she’s doing?”
“She’s doing all right. Why don’t you stop by sometime today,” she suggested gently, “and read it for yourself?”
He drew a quick breath through his teeth and winced. If only he could; it would be an opportunity to see Liam…and Jaina. “I wish I could, but I’ve got a packed schedule…back-to-back appointments before lunch, a hearing this afternoon. I can’t come to The Chili Pot, but…”
He wondered if she was wearing her shoulder-length curls in a ponytail at the nape of her neck as she had the day the diner had flooded, or if she’d let it hang free, the way she’d worn it for the meeting in his office. Wild and free, he hoped.
Jaina ended the long pause. “But what?”
“But if you let me buy you lunch,” he finished, “we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“I suppose I could get away for an hour or so. Where should I meet you?”
“Ever been to The Judge’s Bench?”
“No, but I’ve passed it a hundred times when I’ve been on Main Street looking for bargains in the antique stores.”
Antiques. She had an eye for them all right, and a flair for knowing how to show off their finer qualities, as evidenced by the way she’d scattered them throughout her apartment. Maybe one of these days, he’d bring her to the house, see if she’d be interested in helping him fix it up….
Very recently, thoughts of her had distracted him from his work. Now, the image of her, arranging and rearranging things in his house was having the same effect.
“When?”
“When what?”
“When should I be there?”
“Oh. Right.” He adjusted his tie as if that would set his mind straight. “Why don’t I call you when I wrap up my last appointment, so you won’t end up waiting…in case the meeting runs overtime.”
“That’ll be fine.” It was her turn to hesitate. “Is this…is this a fancy place?”<
br />
He didn’t believe there was a woman alive who didn’t ask that question when invited to a new restaurant. He smiled, picturing the way Jaina might dress for work: kicky little skirts or blue jeans, but with a bright scarf or a strand of colorful beads for added flair. “A black robe will be fine.”
She laughed softly. “Not that I have anything against basic black, mind you, but maybe I’ll just wing it.”
“I can tell you this. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb if you wear anything dressy.”
“It’s just…I thought with a name like The Judge’s Bench, it’d be crawling with guys and gals in suits and ties and Italian loafers, you know?”
“Nah. Just ordinary folks like you and me.” He felt a bit strange saying that because, in his opinion, there was nothing ordinary about Jaina Chandelle.
“Good. Then I won’t have to change.”
“Call you around noon, then.”
“Okay. And Connor?”
“Hmm…?”
“Just so you won’t worry…Kirstie says she’s not alone. She’s getting some medical care, too.”
Then why couldn’t Jaina wait until tomorrow to show him the letter? he wondered. “Don’t you worry. I won’t.”
Connor was still sitting on the corner of Pearl’s desk, staring at the receiver, when the secretary breezed into the room. “You have to talk into the end with lots of holes,” she said in a scolding tone, “before anything will come out of the other end.”
He blinked. “Morning, Pearl.” Squinting, he wrinkled his nose. “Er, what did you say?”
Pearl shoved her purse into a drawer and grabbed the phone from his hand. “Never mind,” she said, hanging it up. She opened the appointment book. “I’ll pull the Adams file for you. They won’t be here until nine-thirty. You have plenty of time to go over your notes.”
Nodding distractedly, he gathered his things and headed for his office. He stopped in the doorway. “Pearl?”
“Hmm?”
“Would you get me the Adams file? They’ll be here soon, and I want to go over my notes.”
Frowning, she propped a fist on an ample hip. “Sure thing, Boss.” Then, pursing her lips, she studied him through narrowed eyes. “You okay, Mr. B.?”
“Who, me?” He smiled. “I’m fine.” He knitted his brow. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “No reason, just asking.”
He sent her a halfhearted smile, then disappeared into his office.
“If I didn’t know him better,” Pearl muttered, “I’d say he’s been bitten by the lovebug.”
“Did you say something, Pearl?”
“Sometimes we old folks talk to ourselves, that’s all.”
But he didn’t hear a word she’d said. Pearl knew it because the last thing she saw before pulling out the top drawer of the filing cabinet was Connor Buchanan, staring off into space, thick mustache slanting above a silly half grin.
She rummaged in the drawer, withdrew a folder labeled Adams. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him.
He met her eyes. “Isn’t that incredible? I was just about to buzz you, ask you to bring me this very file.”
Shaking her head, she raised one brow. “Just doin’ my job, Boss.” And as she closed the door, Pearl put a hand over her mouth and giggled softly. “I hope he’s not planning to drive anywhere today,” she said under her breath, “’cause I don’t think the insurance company covers fender benders caused by bug bites.”
With Liam safe in his playpen in the far corner of her room, Jaina prepared for her lunch date. She hadn’t been out with a man in nearly two years, unless she counted going to the movies with Skip as a date, and she didn’t. But then, this wasn’t a date, either. Because Connor Buchanan doesn’t care a fig for me!
She looked at the rumpled pile of clothing in the middle of her bed. Jaina had tried on every summery outfit she owned, as well as a few that would be more appropriate in the spring or fall. You should have stayed in the diner till it was time to leave, she scolded herself, because then you’d have been too busy to think about anything so silly as what you’d wear.
Jaina slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall. What would he think of a woman whose clothes were more suited to McDonald’s than a fashionable café in town? But what did Connor Buchanan’s opinion of her wardrobe matter? Liam was the reason he’d come into her life, and Liam would be the only reason they’d continue to communicate.
Liam, and for a little while longer, Kirstie….
She thought of the way he’d sounded when she told him about Kirstie’s letter. The joy and relief in his voice made it clear that he really cared about a girl he’d never met…a girl he hadn’t even known existed two weeks ago. As well he should, considering that Kirstie had been his beloved sister Susan’s daughter. But how did he feel about the fact that Kirstie would soon be gone, and the only family he’d have left in the world came in the form of a tiny, gurgling package called Liam Connor Buchanan?
If only she could get a message to Kirstie! Jaina would love to tell her that she’d made a terrible mistake about her uncle. Because though Connor might have appeared to Kirstie as grumpy and mean, he was nothing of the kind. He had a giving nature, and the proof was in the way he behaved around Liam.
She’d seen plenty of men attempt to communicate with babies. Most seemed to feel it wasn’t macho to make silly faces and noises. And then they wondered why kids didn’t react well to them! It was no surprise that Liam had taken an immediate liking to Connor. But then, any man willing to speak two octaves higher than usual—while wiggling his brows and making funny noises—was pretty much guaranteed a happy and affectionate response.
He’d be a wonderful father someday, she thought. Jaina’s wistful smile gave way to a worried frown as she thought of his desire to be a father to Liam. But hopefully, not any time soon.
Buchanan was young, vital, handsome. Why hadn’t he married, had a few children of his own? she wondered. If he had a wife and family like most other men his age, maybe he wouldn’t be so intent on having Liam.
The door opened, providing a much needed escape from her frightening reflections.
“Hey, girl, what’s shakin’?”
“Skip! What are you doing, stopping by in the middle of a workday? Is this where my tax dollars are going?” she teased.
“You need to get a new writer, pal, ’cause that joke’s gettin’ old.” He chuckled. “Say…I’m gonna be here around lunchtime. Since I’m with Social Services, what say I offer you my services. Whatcha doin’ for lunch?”
Ordinarily, she’d have jumped at the chance to spend an hour or two with her best friend. “Today?”
“No,” he said teasingly, “the second Tuesday of next month.”
“I’m sorry, Skip, I’d like to, but—”
“Why am I always the last to know about your love life?”
“If I ever get a love life, you’ll be the first to know,” she said dully. “This isn’t a date.” The words had spurted from her mouth so quickly, even she didn’t believe she’d actually said them.
“Hmm, what was that old line out of Shakespeare? Something like me thinketh thou protesteth too mucheth?”
She took a deep breath and started over. “Seriously, it’s a business lunch.”
“What kind of business?”
“Well, I got a letter from Kirstie Buchanan yesterday and—”
“The girl who dumped her baby in your diner?”
Jaina frowned. “She didn’t ‘dump’ him. She wrote to let me know she’s doing fine. She didn’t want me to worry.”
“Mighty big of her,” he grumbled, “considering it’s she who oughta be worrying…about whether or not her kid’s okay, about whether or not you’re a serial killer, about—”
“Skip,” she interrupted, “be fair. You know the circumstances as well as anyone. Kirstie is barely more than a child, herself, and she’s dying. What did you expect her to do?”
“Oh, lemme see, I
dunno. Put him into a home with two loving adults, where maybe he had a chance of becoming a permanent part of a real family?”
“You don’t have to be so sarcastic. You read the letter. Her own mother died when Kirstie was young, and the poor girl got bounced around by the system for years. She didn’t want that for Liam.”
There was a long pause before he muttered, “I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I don’t make the rules. And I know the system isn’t perfect. Besides, I haven’t really been looking for foster parents. I thought you wanted—”
Jaina sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Then I wish you’d told me that before. Every time my phone rings, you know, I think it’s going to be you—”
“Thanks a heap, kiddo. Didn’t know you cared so much.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I was about to say that every time the phone rings, I’m afraid it’s you, calling to say you have found someone to keep Liam until—”
“Until the final adoption hearing is scheduled?”
“Yes. Until then. I’m really nuts about him, Skip, and every day that he’s with me, I love him more.” She sighed again. “How do foster parents do it?”
“Do what?”
“Take a child in, treat it like their own, then hand it back whenever Social Services snaps its collective fingers.”
“To my knowledge, we’ve never done anything collectively. But to answer your question, it’s just as hard for foster parents to give up the kids we place with ’em as it’ll be for you to give up Liam. The difference is, it’s something they accept because it’s part of the job, which is to do what’s best for the child.”
His matter-of-fact comment seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. It may have been good advice, but it sure did hurt.
She chose to ignore his dig. “Do you really think that I’ll have to give him up?”
“Yes…and I think you think so, too.”
Jaina might have denied it if a sob hadn’t choked off her words.
“When there’s a healthy, well-adjusted relative in the picture, the court awards that party custody…if that’s what the person wants.”