Glancing beyond her, his eyes grew quizzical. "Where's Tommy?"
"He's still in the bathroom." She frowned. Now that she thought of it, he'd gone suddenly quiet after breakfast. Unlike the previous evening, when she'd had trouble settling him down for bed. His head full of stories of Hank. And dogs. And helicopters. And dogs. "Maybe I should go check-"
"Here he comes." Hank nodded over her shoulder. "Hey, bud. How's it going this morning?"
His face pensive as he approached, relief trickled through her when her son grinned at Hank. Distracted, she wondered whether anything was going on with Tommy. Anything more she needed to worry about? As though she wasn't already on overload.
Tommy hurled himself at Hank, who caught him easily, giving him a quick hug. If he was caught off guard by the show of affection, Hank's easy smile didn't reveal it. "Did you bring your dog?"
"Thomas David—where are your manners?" She gently poked him, relieved when he smiled. "The polite thing is to say good morning-"
Her son groaned. "Good morning, Mr. Hank," he parroted back. "How are you?"
"I'm great," he responded. "Are you guys ready to do some work?"
Her son's eyes were too serious for a six-year-old, she thought, her happiness dimming. His smiles too infrequent. He'd changed schools. Lost friends. Each time, he'd come away from the encounter a little quieter. A little more tense. Worried about the few things in his tiny realm he could control.
"I'm ready," Jason announced, his gaze on the home improvement store bags. "Is that stuff for us?"
"It's the supplies we'll be using today," he explained.
Tommy glanced behind him to the stack of lumber and small pile of tools."Where's Bo?" His shoulders slumped. "He didn't come?"
Over his head, Hank winked at her. "I have a couple things in the truck I need your help with. Maybe you could walk out with me and help carry them?"
"Yeah." Tommy's expression brightened, still holding a glimmer of hope that a dog would somehow miraculously appear. "Let's go-"
Her heart launched into her throat. Outside? "M-maybe you should wait for Mr. Hank in here-"
"No, mommy." Mutinous eyes flashed. "I wanna see his truck." Lip quivering, his cheeks flushed with an anger that seemed to erupt more spontaneously now.
"But-" Panic clutched her chest.
"I'm big enough."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Hank reassured, clueless that anything had changed in the last sixty seconds with the seemingly normal woman standing beside him. The woman who was suddenly on the verge of losing it.
"I'll stay with Mr. Hank." Tommy's voice held defiance. And something else. The desperate need for—freedom. Stability. Normal. For something he could call his own. In a life that had grown stale with disappointment, he needed a memory he could hang onto that didn't involve the drab sameness of their current life. He wanted—a story he could share with his friend Hector. A story where Tommy was the lucky kid. The special kid—who got to hang out with a nice man who paid attention to him.
Her nod jerky, Annie couldn't speak around the knot of fear choking her. Tommy wanted more. He deserved so much more than she could give. Kids absorbed abuse in different ways. In therapy, she'd learned the residual effects hinged on several factors. Temperament. Age. The abuse they experienced. Or witnessed. Depending on how soon the abuse stopped. How soon they returned to 'normal'.
"We'll be right back," Hank assured.
In a rising tide of fear, Annie experienced a sliver of happiness when Tommy slid his small hand into Hank's. Containing her panic until they disappeared into the hallway, she suppressed a shudder as she made a beeline for the window. "Let's look outside," she suggested to Jason, her voice thin with fear. Please God—don't let Phil be out there. Craning her neck, she could barely see to the corner of the building.
She was vaguely aware of Jason delving into the bags, his eager voice happy as he pulled out—something. Unable to budge from the window, Annie concentrated on breathing. In and out. Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen. Repeating the mantra in her head, she clutched her waist—as though willing her organs not to run for the hills. Her chest tightened with each breath. Do NOT have a panic attack. Her brain rebelled. Not now. Not today. She'd wanted today to be perfect-
Her eyes glistening, she acknowledged normal was still a long way off. Right now, normal was this shelter. Her serving meals for twelve hour shifts each day. The boys spending endless hours in a too small daycare center, playing with broken toys. No outdoor play—at least, not for her two—because Phil could choose that day to show up.
Normal was loud noises. Late night barrages from belligerent exes trying to storm the doors. Squabbling families and fussy babies. Nocturnal escapees of violence—forced into the shelter with the clothes on their backs and little else. Half the entrants to New Beginnings' program arrived in the dead of night, after waiting for their partner to pass out—or leave in a rage.
The day a woman 'graduated' from New Beginnings, her space was filled by another from the long waiting list. Broken bones. Broken families. Broken lives. An unending cycle. But, sharing a single dream. Starting over. Free of anger. Abuse. Fear.
The previous night, after Hank left, Tommy had lost it in their tiny room upstairs. "Why can't we see his farm? Why can't I have a dog?" She winced at the memory. At the realization she only ever learned what was on her son's mind when he yelled at her. Why can't we ever leave? Last night had been about Hank—and what he represented. A kind, interested father figure. A home. Fields to run in. A dog.
Last night had also been about Hector. Tommy's friend got to leave each day with Marisol. He ate dinner at a quiet kitchen table. Hector slept in a bed by himself, in a room of his own. Hector had a backyard. A park down the street to play in. And now, Tommy had learned—he would be getting baseball lessons with Jeff Traynor.
Annie released a careful, shuddering breath, closing her eyes to the frustrated tears that wanted to cascade. But, tears had never solved anything. They'd never made her feel better. Only weak. Useless. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she glanced over her shoulder at Jason. After digging out a small hammer, he was tapping it on the pile of lumber. Relieved her youngest was oblivious to her pending meltdown, she turned back to the window. When she caught a glimpse of Hank's salt and pepper hair, she wobbled, faint with relief. Crisis averted. Again.
PHIL SAT UP IN HIS seat, binoculars at the ready. The sudden flash of movement. Familiar. Yet, not. A kid. Outside. With an older guy. "Could be someone else's." How long had it been now? The last time he'd seen them . . . Two months earlier. When he'd found the dinghy rental she'd moved into. Phil grinned at the memory. He'd kicked in the door—left it hangin' open while he spray-painted graffiti on the wall near the door. "You can lose your security deposit over shit like that." Damn it, now he couldn't see the kid behind all the parked trucks. He released a steadying breath to disperse the rage. Keep it at bay.
The last time, he'd lucked into an intern working the phones at the shelter. Likely workin' on a degree in helping pathetic losers like Annie. "Gotta love them volunteers."
An urgent call . . . for a woman staying there. In his polite, charming voice. Half the time, the idiots forgot to be careful. So intent on helping, they forgot they weren't supposed to reveal information. Their bleedin', liberal hearts wanted to provide information. To feel important. To feel indebted to him when he let his voice grow frantic with worry. His chuckle broke the silence in his car. "Her mother's taken a turn for the worse," he mimicked. "I've got to get in touch with her." Dramatic pause. "Are you sure you don't know anything?"
"Works like a charm." Phil leaned forward, his gaze glued to the parking lot. Something felt different. Tangible. New Beginnings, thus far, had felt like a damned fortress. Unbreachable. With that damned, giant guarding the entrance. But, today-
His breath caught. A kid. Dark, curly hair. It looks like the older one- His head began pounding. Fury. Pain. Intermingled with excitement. "You're goin'
down, bitch." He stared through the binoculars until he was certain. Not blinking. Not breathing. His forehead dotting with perspiration. His breathing shallow—like the moment before he got off. He embraced the tingling, sick feeling of joy. Success. Just one. "I only need one of them."
"MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOUR hand tight on the strap," Hank instructed the ecstatic little boy after a quick trip around the parking lot. Tommy wanted to take Bo for a walk. His docile lab wouldn't run, but his weight would be enough to make the little guy tumble if Bo jerked on his leash. "Easy, old boy." He grinned, unable to decide who was more happy. Bo yelped with excitement, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
Tommy had spent a few minutes sitting behind the wheel of his truck, pretending to drive. Hank grinned, remembering the shrieking sound of crash noises as he'd jerked the wheel back and forth. "Lord help Annie when this one starts driving."
Big Pete nodded with a shudder. "Dude, your goal should be to not hit anything."
"It's fun to crash on video games." Tommy glanced to his left, where Hank leaned on the rolled-down driver's window. The window buttons had been damned near irresistible to the little boy. After negotiating, Tommy had traded playing with the window buttons over wanting to 'test' the horn. At eight on a Saturday morning. "I like the crash noises."
"Yeah—that's not so fun in real life. And it's expensive." A few minutes later, they made it back inside the building. Even Pete's scowl had softened momentarily at the sight of Bo. He'd stooped down to give him several pats on the head. Bo managed to sit still for Pete, tail wagging, goofy grin on his face.
"He's a nice lookin' dog, Hank." Still bent to pet him, Pete grinned. "I should get me one."
"They're great companions." Surprised by the show of enthusiasm from their giant guardian, Hank studied him. "Bo's been with me six years. But, these last four years—I couldn't have done without him."
"Mr. Pete—look!" Tommy tilted his head back to the towering, former marine. "Look—I'm holdin' his leash!"
"You look pretty grown-up . . . walkin' him like that." Pete straightened, seeming to remember his duties. He quickly scanned the horizon. "That car is back again," he muttered.
Hank turned to follow his gaze. "What car?"
"Old Ford. Down the block . . . on the left."
"The blue one?" Hank located the suspect vehicle, wondering what about it had triggered Pete's attention. Although—for Shea, it wouldn't take much. Parking in the same spot two days in a row. An expired tag. Leaving an unacceptable amount of distance between the curb and the wheels. A forgotten inspection sticker . . . "If it merits further investigation-"
Pete scowled. "I'll be on it. Might be time to trace that plate." With a last pat on Bo's head, he stood at attention.
"How would you get that done?"
The giant smirked. "I know people."
"I probably don't want to know." He shook his head. "Alright, bud. Your mom is probably wondering where we are." Surprised when Tommy took his hand, Hank enjoyed the feel of the sturdy, little fingers in his. He nudged him toward the door. "Keep an eye out for us, Pete."
"I got your six."
Out of the blinding sunshine, Hank let his eyes adjust as they entered the dim corridor, passing the bustle of activity in the dining room. Several doors down, they returned to the daycare center.
"Look, Mommy," Tommy shouted from the hallway. His freckled face wreathed with smiles, he held Bo's leash like a pro. "I'm walkin' him. Jase—come see. This is Bo."
"Why don't you tell him to sit," Hank suggested.
Tommy repeated the command—and Bo tried like hell to obey it, but there were too many little arms hugging him. His butt would hit the floor for a second or two, before he bolted up, tail wagging, his yelp excited—eager to receive all the attention.
"Why's he barkin'?" Jason's thumb left his mouth to wrap both arms around his old lab. Bo rewarded him with a lick to his face. Eyes wide, Jason looked as though he might panic, before he busted out laughing and sank to the floor to hug him tighter.
"He's excited to meet you boys," Hank explained, relieved they weren't being shy around Bo. "He's trying to be good, but he's so happy, he's forgetting his manners." He watched Tommy crouch to the floor to have a heart to heart with Bo, who eagerly barked back. Annie smothered her laughter.
The pile of tools forgotten, Jason quickly rummaged through the toys to find a ball. "Can we take him down there to play?" He pointed to the corner where the pile of nap mats took up too much space.
Glancing at Annie, he wanted to make sure she was okay with the chaos that suddenly surrounded them. Miss Sharon had given him the all-clear to bring Bo in, but he was hopeful Annie would be okay with it, too. "Yup. He'll settle down in a couple minutes. Hopefully, he'll lay down and take a nap while we work."
"We can keep him busy for you," Tommy suggested.
"That—will be very helpful." He maintained a straight face. Apparently, helping with the project placed a distant second to playing with his dog. But, the spark in the little guy's eyes left him with a warm burst of happiness. Though he hoped he was wrong, Hank sensed Tommy didn't have a lot to smile about. His thoughts shifting to Annie, he wondered how long it would take before she would let down her guard and confide in him. About their circumstances. About her ex. About why her pretty eyes showed flashes of fear—more often than joy. Why she worked so hard—and was so weary all the time. Did her ex not support them? Did he make them wait for money? The pleasant heat in his gut slowly chilled to dread. Was he cruel to them? Was that why she was so—cautious? Skittish. His brain always seemed to return to that word. Startled. Jumpy. Sometimes, it almost seemed as though she were actually afraid.
"Once he's settled down, you can help your mom and me with the work in here."
"Uh-huh." Half listening, Tommy picked up the leash and walked Bo to the far side of the daycare. Jason quickly followed.
Standing by his side, Annie watched them leave. "I'm sensing you'll have less help than you originally planned on."
Her slow smile dissolved the worry lines he'd witnessed earlier. It also sent a flash of heat skidding through him. If she ever decided to smile like that all the time, he'd damn well be a goner. "Looks like it's you and me."
Lucky for you, I'm a great helper-" She shot him a side-eye glance. "And I won't be distracted by a dog."
"Maybe not dogs-" He stared at her mouth, remembering the previous evening. Grinned as her cheeks suddenly colored a delectable shade of pink that reminded him of the first creamy blush on the peaches in his orchard. "But, you might get distracted by other things."
"What sort of-" Teeth working her tantalizing bottom lip, Annie's nerves caught up with her impulse and she dropped her gaze. "I can't make any guarantees." Her husky admission was made to the buttons on his shirt.
He tipped her chin up. "Maybe I'll test you later." Hank wanted to grin. Wanted to pull her into his arms and see just how long her guarantee would last. Everything he knew about her suggested contrasts. A woman who wanted to be bold—yet, always seemed to hesitate. As though the voice in her head wanted to talk her out of it. Yet, the few times she'd been in his arms, she'd been eager. Completely letting go, until they'd both forgotten everything else. Hell, she'd damn near ignited. Under the layers of worry, under all the second-guessing was a passionate woman who wanted. Hopefully, he could convince her she wanted him.
"Maybe I'll test you." Her shy voice scattered his thoughts. "Maybe I'll seize the day."
How could his heart rate double in the span of only seconds? "Darlin', you can seize every hour of it." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, catching the unmistakable huff of breath she released. "Hell, you can seize every minute."
When her lips brushed his cheek, soft and gentle as a butterfly, Hank stilled. Her quiet laughter warmed his chest. He'd been unable to stop imagining how they could be together. How incredible it could be if she finally allowed him entrance to her life. To the secrets she was keeping. Hell, just to touch her. Becaus
e when Annie was in his arms, no doubt colored his perception of her desire to be there.
But, the next time—was like starting all over again. Like dawn breaking over his fields. Beautiful streaks of ever-changing color, none of them lasting long enough to capture—until the next morning, when the cycle would repeat. Constant—yet, without permanence. But each gentle nudge seemed to draw Annie a little closer. What would she be like when she finally trusted him?
Taking a step back, her eyes flashed regret. Over the impulse to kiss him? Or the necessity of stopping? "We should . . . probably get to work."
"You're right, sweet." Acknowledging her retreat, Hank strolled to the door. As the decibel level escalated from two happy, little boys and his undisciplined dog, he glanced into the hallway. "We'd better close this door so we don't disturb anyone else."
TWO HOURS LATER, HANK nudged her. "Look at them."
Hammer in hand, she'd followed behind him, sinking nails. Tightening screws. He liked watching her. When Annie was working, her nose scrunched in concentration. It made him want to stroke his finger down it. Disrupt her beautiful absorption.
Marking off the first shelf measurements, she glanced up. "Are they into something?"
When she tucked the pencil behind her ear, his heart thudded an extra beat. Her pretty, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Annie looked about twenty-five. Hammer in hand, shirt un-tucked, she was sexy as hell. Immersed in a task, she seemed to embrace their methodical approach. Initially, he'd hoped for conversation. Hours of hearing her voice. Learning her thoughts. Getting to know more about her. Yet, a part of him appreciated her ability to sink into a project, working together with no need for words.
Though he wasn't learning much directly, Hank was seeing a part of her he hadn't before. Indirectly, he'd learned a great deal. Annie didn't need chatter. Every few minutes, she'd glance up to check on the boys. She always knew where they were and what they were doing. But, as long as they weren't too loud, she'd smile and get back to work. Letting the boys have fun without micro-managing them. She seemed to take the same approach with him. She'd observe the task at hand, watching what he did. Her gentle voice would ask an intelligent question or two before she'd accommodate her actions to his. As the skeleton of the storage closet began to take shape, so had his opinion of Annie. Quiet. Confident—but sometimes not. An easygoing, but protective mom. Unflappable . . . until she started second-guessing herself.
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