A Matter of Trust (The Boston Five Series #5)

by Poppy J. Anderson

  So it was negligible that the tiramisu they had also shared was awful.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, Kyle pointed at the still half-full dessert plate, which stood in the middle of the rustic wooden table. “There’s a tiny bistro in North End that makes incredibly good dessert. Next time we’ll go there, and I’ll make up for this sorry excuse for dessert.”

  She smiled at the way he whispered the last part, considerate of the host who was clearing a table nearby. The fact that Kyle was talking of a second date sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. She studied his face, and the tiny scar at the left corner of his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, she might throw herself at him soon.

  After the last few dates she’d agreed to, which had all been disappointing, she had concluded that handsome men with charisma, charm, and character were nothing but a myth, but Kyle proved that gentlemen did still exist. Men who held the door for a woman, who were funny and didn’t run around with a picture of their dick in their wallet. Okay, so she hadn’t inspected Kyle’s wallet, but he didn’t seem like a guy who needed such a picture to jazz up his confidence. No, Kyle was good-looking, with broad shoulders, and he smiled a lot and possessed an incredibly charming manner that made sure you felt instantly at ease with him. Plus, he really listened to you when you spoke, which was a rare thing these days. And Morgan thought the enthusiasm he showed when talking about his job was another bonus.

  “The pizza was great though,” Morgan conceded and smoothed her napkin, which lay on the tabletop before her. “Desserts are overrated.”

  “Ha!” There was a twinkle in his eyes. He was wearing a plain blue shirt and a pair of jeans with dark Chucks, looking positively charming. “Then you’ve never had a really awesome dessert. I always thought women were total suckers for sweet things.”

  Morgan cocked her head. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience. Have you gone to that bistro with a lot of women to order dessert for them?”

  Kyle gave her an amused smile.

  Morgan didn’t want to imagine Kyle with other women, but she forced herself to sound nonchalant. “Gotcha!”

  He raised both hands in a show of innocence. “Not at all. Though I have to admit that I was sent there quite often in the last few years to buy cakes and chocolates. Mostly by women with pregnancy cravings.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  Kyle leaned forward and braced himself on both elbows, whispering confidentially, “Gotcha.”

  “Hey.” She narrowed her eyes in mock outrage.

  “You should have seen your face.” He grinned and looked her squarely in the eyes. “But to reassure you, those pregnant women with their chocolate cravings were my sisters-in-law and my actual sister.”

  Morgan crossed her arms playfully. “And you expect me to believe that?”

  He nodded quickly and then drank the rest of his cappuccino. When he looked up again, there was a thin milk mustache on his upper lip. “Of course you should believe that. I have three sisters-in-law and one sister.”

  She stared at the tempting milk froth in fascination. “Sounds like you have a large family.”

  His smile deepened. “Rather large, yeah—I have three brothers and one sister. Add to that a bunch of nieces and nephews. My … What are you staring at, Morgan?”

  Seeing his puzzled frown, she pointed at his upper lip with a smile. “You have something on your lip.”

  “Oh.”

  She giggled. “Milk froth.”

  His hand went to his mouth to wipe it away, but he got the wrong side. “Here?”

  Morgan shook her head and leaned forward, unable to resist the urge to run her thumb across his lip to wipe away the little mustache. The touch felt like an electric shock.

  Kyle must have felt it, too, because he stiffened when her fingertip brushed his lip and fixed her with his eyes, which were all of a sudden darkening. Her throat went dry, and a tingling, longing sensation raced from her fingertip straight to her stomach. Though Kyle must have shaved recently, the sensitive skin on her finger rubbed across tiny stubble that felt unbearably good. Unbidden, the thought of how that stubble might feel against her lips stole into her head and stayed there as Morgan slowly drew her hand back, all of her nerve endings protesting.

  She wanted to touch him more—longer.

  Morgan knew she had to defuse the mounting tension between them and keep herself from crawling across the table to verify whether Kyle tasted as good as he looked, so she cleared her throat and balled her tingling hand into a fist under the table.

  “So where were we? You have a large family.”

  Kyle didn’t answer right away. Instead he seemed to take a very deep breath, his eyes gradually losing that dark intensity. Morgan wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d loosened his collar. She was strangely pleased that he appeared just as confused and flustered as she felt.

  “Do you really want to talk about my family right now?”

  Morgan leaned back in her chair. “What else could we talk about?” she asked innocently.

  His ironic snort did weird things to her stomach. It felt like riding a rollercoaster.

  “Oh, I’m sure I could think of a few things, but since you’re that interested in my family …” He raised both arms as if surrendering, before asking in a show of resignation, “What do you want to know?”

  “You mentioned your family first,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “Just tell me something.”

  “That’s easy,” he sighed. “My family is loud, not reserved at all, and quite overbearing. Now it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?” She pointed at herself with a puzzled expression.

  “Sure.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Tell me about your family.”

  Morgan wrinkled her nose and answered in a surprisingly calm fashion, “There’s not much to talk about.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Kyle objected, not knowing he was really putting his foot in it.

  “No, really,” Morgan insisted as casually as she could.

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “One half-brother. His name is Michael, and he’s a few years older than me. We haven’t seen each other in years, so I have no idea how he’s doing.”

  She met his inquisitive look with a shrug. “My family is not a good topic for a first date, I’m afraid. My mom left my dad shortly after I was born, and I saw four stepmothers come and go by the age of seven. After that, my great-aunt Edith raised me.” Morgan didn’t want to add that after Edith’s death she had been put in various foster families until she ran away and was picked up at a bus terminal by the DCF, before finally going to live with Milly until she went to college. Some stories were sure-fire mood killers.

  “Crap,” Kyle murmured uneasily. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Morgan started munching on a breadstick, even though she wasn’t hungry. She had to occupy herself with something.

  “Now I feel guilty,” her date replied sheepishly. “I ruined the mood.”

  Morgan smiled with great sincerity. “You couldn’t do that if you wanted to. You’re an absolute gentleman.”

  He coughed. “What? I’m what?”

  “A gentleman,” she repeated. “You even held the door for me and pulled the chair out for me.”

  “But that is the least anyone would do,” Kyle replied, his chiseled cheeks blushing. “I hope you don’t think I’m an insensitive idiot.”

  “Because you pulled out the chair for me?” she teased.

  “No.” He shook his head gravely. “Because I asked about your family even though you were uncomfortable with the question. That’s not what a gentleman does,” he concluded with a generous amount of irony.

  Someone cleared their throat next to their table. It seemed the waiter wanted to close it down, and the two of them were the last guests still sitting in the restaurant.

  When Morgan reached for her wallet, Kyle snorted loudly. “I’m not letting
you pay!”

  She smiled and raised both hands. “As the gentleman wishes.”

  When they left the place a few moments later, he held the door for her again and walked her to her car. She rummaged in her purse for her keys, feeling nervous. “Where are you parked?”

  His chuckle made her raise her eyes.

  “Nowhere,” Kyle explained. “I came by bike.”

  “By bike?” She tilted her head back so she could look into his face.

  “The bicycle is perfect for navigating the city,” he explained, not offended at all. “No problems with looking for a parking spot, no tickets for speeding, and it’s better for the environment, too.”

  Morgan found her keys. “I haven’t ridden a bicycle in such a long time I’m not even sure I still know how to do it!”

  “You can’t unlearn that, ever,” he replied, standing so close that she could study the scar on the corner of his mouth. “That’s actually an idea for our next date.”

  She swallowed against her dry throat. “Our next date?” she repeated in as casual a tone as she could muster.

  “Of course,” Kyle said, as if that was obvious. “A bike excursion. If you can bear the thought of another date with me, that is.”

  She nodded nervously and looked into his eyes.

  “Are we on?” he asked.

  “We’re on, yes.”

  Much to her disappointment, she then had to learn that when a gentleman said good night to his date, he only kissed her on the cheek.

  Chapter 4

  “How is he doing?”

  “Rather well, really. He hasn’t had any problems with the coordination exercises so far, and since we took off the cast, we have to keep reminding him not to overstrain his muscles. They need to be built up again slowly. But, yeah, if he continues like this, I give it a few weeks before he won’t need his crutches anymore.”

  Kyle felt a wash of relief as he observed his charge in the physical therapy room of the pediatric ward. The boy’s face was focused as he did some walking exercises on the parallel bars, and he wouldn’t be irritated or daunted no matter how much his legs shook and strained.

  Even though Kyle was in the middle of his shift and had at least two dozen patient files on his desk that needed to be updated, he had raced up to the fifth floor to have a look at Cody doing his physical therapy without the cast for the first time today.

  He watched the boy’s thin legs and bony knees as he gripped the bars and tackled one step after another with unfailing determination. In a flash, Kyle remembered just how severely the boy had been injured when they’d brought him in. Cody was incredibly brave if you considered that his spleen had to be taken out, his lungs had collapsed, and the scars on his thorax hadn’t even begun to fade. Kyle would likely have given up if he was in Cody’s shoes, but the ten-year-old tackled each new obstacle with so much bravery that Kyle had nothing but respect for him.

  Hank, his physical therapist, seemed to harbor similar thoughts. “I’ve never seen a patient with such an iron will. When I look at his patient file, I can hardly believe he’s as cheerful and fit as he is today.”

  Instead of replying, Kyle merely nodded, watching with apprehension as Cody lost his balance for a moment and almost fell. The urge to run over to the bars and grab him, to help steady him, was so strong he had to clench his teeth and cross his arms over the scrubs he was wearing.

  “Do you have any idea when he’ll be released?” Hank asked.

  Kyle took his eyes off Cody with a studiously casual shrug. “You should ask Dr. Macy. He’s responsible for Cody’s treatment, ever since the first operation.”

  Hank made a face. “I don’t do too well with pediatric surgeons—they’re a bunch of giant drama queens. Plus, he probably wouldn’t think of talking to a therapist. Those guys keep to their own kind.”

  Kyle couldn’t help grinning in agreement. Hank had hit the nail on the head. He’d flirted with the idea of becoming a pediatric surgeon himself but had ended up in general medicine, since he preferred listening to his patients over cutting them open.

  Kyle patted the short, stocky therapist’s shoulder. “I’ll ask about his treatment for you.”

  He was just about to leave when Hank asked in a bewildered tone, “Don’t you want to say hi to Cody?”

  “I can’t.” He pointed to the beeper clipped to the waist of his pants. “I’m on standby in the ER. Gotta get down there again.”

  Before Cody could spot him, Kyle slipped out and went to the reception desk to take a look into the kid’s patient file, ignoring two giggling nurses who passed him and breathed hellos. He also ignored the look of curiosity the head nurse, Margaret, gave him and opened the cabinet that held the files as if he had business doing so.

  “Dr. Fitzpatrick, do you have a minute?”

  He looked up from his search and spied Dr. Kleypas, the head of pediatrics, standing close by with a concerned look.

  Kyle closed the cabinet again and returned the gaze with curiosity. “Of course, Dr. Kleypas. What can I do for you?”

  The older man answered with a heavy sigh. He had gray hair and wore a white lab coat with his name written in large, colorful letters above the chest pocket, which always held candy for his valiant little patients. “There’s an agent from DCF in my office who wants to talk to me about the Baker boy. I’d like you to be there as well.”

  Kyle felt his stomach lurch. Over the preceding weeks, there had already been various visits from people who belonged to the Department of Children and Families, and each time, their “conversation” with Cody had ended with the boy being thoroughly distraught and unsettled. One time Kyle had been present as a rather brisk lady had talked to Cody and managed to utterly frighten the boy, who had just come out of one of his many surgeries. She’d scared him so much, in fact, that Cody had vomited in his panic. It had cost Kyle all of his restraint not to throw the callous woman out. The DCF wasn’t in his good books anymore.

  Yet he nodded and followed his superior to his office a few doors down, where a man in an ill-fitting suit was sitting in a chair balancing a stack of papers on his lap.

  “Mr. Simpson, I’ve asked my colleague Dr. Fitzpatrick to join us for our conversation,” Dr. Kleypas explained as he closed the door of his office. Like Kyle’s own locker, the room was filled with drawings and colorful pictures made by his patients. “Dr. Fitzpatrick was the one who treated Cody Baker in the ER right after the accident and has subsequently become his main pediatrician here.”

  Kyle didn’t know what to make of Mr. Simpson, whose forehead was dripping sweat as he held out his hand. He had learned to be wary of bureaucrats who were in charge of deciding the future of orphaned children, or bringing abused kids back to their biological parents after they’d been treated for obvious injuries.

  Mr. Simpson gave him an obliging smile. “Of course, that’s fine. We’re interested in Cody’s well-being after all.”

  Kyle nodded, shook the man’s head, and sat in a chair next to him as the man fidgeted in his seat and waited for Dr. Kleypas to sit. Kyle, on the other hand, remained calm and leaned forward, hoping his beeper wouldn’t go off in the next few minutes. Unfortunately, it had the tendency to beep at the most inopportune moments.

  “Well … we don’t have happy news, I’m afraid,” Mr. Simpson began. “Cody’s parents had only moved to Boston a few months ago and, regrettably, never got around to designating someone who could take care of their children in the event of their passing.”

  “What’s the family situation? Any relatives?” Dr. Kleypas asked.

  Kyle raised his head and shook it. “Cody told me his grandparents are dead. He does have an uncle on his mother’s side but doesn’t recall ever meeting him.”

  Mr. Simpson nodded sorrowfully. “That is correct. We were able to locate that uncle, but not only does he live abroad, he also promptly informed us that he isn’t interested in taking Cody.”

  The corners of Kyle’s mouth curved downward in disdain, an
d his hands balled into fists. There would have been no discussion in his family as to whether anyone would take care of their sibling’s children. He felt like grabbing this particular uncle by the throat and giving him a piece of his mind …

  “There’s also a great-aunt on the father’s side, but the lady is already over seventy and lives in a nursing home after suffering a stroke.”

  Kyle licked his dry lips. “And what does that mean for Cody?” he asked hoarsely.

  The DCF agent sighed heavily and shrugged an indecisive shoulder. “That means we’ll try our best to find a nice, caring foster family for Cody as soon as he’s discharged. But until we find one, we’ll have to send him to an institution.”

  “Institution?” Kyle repeated before Dr. Kleypas could say anything. “You mean an orphanage, right?”

  “Today we call it a children’s home, or a welfare institution,” Mr. Simpson corrected him without guile. “The children and teenagers live in shared housing with qualified caretakers, experiencing something very close to family connections. These institutions have nothing in common with the orphanages we all know from sensationalist movies.”

  Mr. Simpson could call it whatever he wanted, but in Kyle’s eyes, an orphanage would always be an orphanage.

  “The entire staff of the pediatric ward are very fond of Cody and feel rather protective of him,” Dr. Kleypas chimed in. “I trust that you’re going to do everything in your power to find a loving family for the boy?”

  When he saw Mr. Simpson exhaustedly massage the bridge of his nose, Kyle began to suspect the chances of finding a foster family at all were very slim.

  “We do our best to find a loving family for every single child we are responsible for. Unfortunately, the reality isn’t that rosy. Of course we want to find a family for a boy like Cody, but there are no guarantees we’ll be successful.”