Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9)

by Smartypants Romance

Pound-pound-pound and umph-umph-umph form a rhythm.

  “Hello?” My voice squeaks at first, and I swallow before forcing it louder. “Hello?”

  The thumping sound stops, and I hold my breath. My heart races, filling my ears with the rush of my own blood.

  “Scotia, you are imagining things,” I tell myself aloud and turn away from the shed. Something cracks under my foot, and I nearly come out of my skin. I stifle the scream, covering my mouth. I bend to see what I might have stepped on, and the thumping pounds begins again, more frantic, more insistent.

  The muffled mutters grow louder.

  Without a second doubt, I turn back, holding my hand along the side of the shed as a guide.

  “Hello. Can you hear me?” I’m not certain why I ask such a thing, but the rattling grows louder as I near the opposite corner of the structure. I round the edge and see the door rapidly jiggling back and forth. Quickly stepping forward, I find a lock on the closure holding it in place. My hands cup the cold metal as I speak to the door.

  “Who’s in there?”

  The door moves, rustling on its hinges but unable to open completely because of the lock.

  “It’s locked. I can’t help you.”

  I yank at the metal, willing it to pop open. Why does this always look so easy in the movies? I’m not a sleuth. I don’t have a hairpin to pick it, and I wouldn’t know how to do that anyway.

  I tug and tug until I realize it’s only hooked through the latch but not clasped in place.

  Thank you, Moon Goddess. I’ll never doubt Naomi again.

  With shaky fingers, I hurriedly slip the hook from the eye, and the door swings outward. I step back, and something small falls at my feet, cowering. Tiny hands cover the back of a head, and I realize it’s a child whimpering.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  “It’s okay, my darling. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here with the sheriff. We’re here to help you.” I bend at the waist, hesitantly reaching for his back. His body is small. His clothing thin.

  The small form moves and dark eyes I can hardly see look up at me. He’s dressed in only a T-shirt and shorts despite the November temperature, and I squat to help him stand. My hand cups his elbow reassuringly.

  “Come here, my darling,” I whisper, and he slowly rises, keeping his face turned to mine. Once he’s reached his full height, he’s eye level with me in my crouched position. I remove my jacket and wrap it around him.

  “Are you cold? Are you hurt?”

  He stares at me.

  “Do you know someone named Malik?”

  His eyes dip to the pearl necklace at my throat.

  “I know where he is, and he’s safe. He misses you.” I sound as if I’m luring him into more treachery, but I don’t know how else to encourage his trust in me other than to continue speaking about the other boy.

  “Is Malik your brother?”

  The child’s eyes open even wider. “I’m not allowed to talk about him.”

  I almost burst into tears, and my eyes prickle with them, but I need to stay strong for this little man.

  “That’s okay, my boy. He misses you. You don’t have to tell me more. I’m a stranger, right? We shouldn’t talk to them. We shouldn’t trust them, but in this case, I hope you believe me. I know Malik, who loves Artemis Fowl, Pokémon, and Legos. He wants to see you, and the deputy is here to take you to him.”

  His eyes remain on the pearl necklace at my collar, and I notice his bare feet. They must be freezing on the uneven rocks. With my too-large coat wrapped around him like a blanket, it’s not enough for his small toes.

  “I’m going to carry you, okay? I don’t want you to cut your feet on these cold, rough stones,” I tell him, worrying for only half a second that he’ll try to run from me. My tone remains calm, soothing even, as if I’m speaking to a frightened child, which is exactly who stands before me.

  “Do you want to hold my necklace? Would that help?”

  He doesn’t speak but curls his little fist over the pearls at my neck.

  “It’s time to go home, baby,” I tell him, reassuring him as I pick him up, and he wraps his arms and legs around me. We walk like this—me stumbling in my heels, and his frail body clutching mine—until we near the house. I turn toward the porch, and the boy tightens his grasp.

  “It’s okay, darling boy. The sheriff is inside. He’s here to take you to Malik.” My eyes well again at the thought. After stepping onto the low porch, I reach for the screen door, swinging it open, and catching it with my hip. I push the front door to open it, and several officers shift their positions as I enter. One even lowers his hand to his gun holster.

  My eyes latch on to the woman pressing her head into Chet’s chest as they sit on the couch. Her cheek rests near his heart while a hand rests on his body. Her eyes catch mine.

  “My, what a fun game of hide-and-seek you had going on. This child was locked in the shed at the end of your drive.”

  “What are you doing, holding my child?” Henny growls out, pushing off Chet and standing. She sounds like a feral animal, a mother lion unleashed, but this isn’t her child. As she steps forward, Chet now standing behind her, catches her around the waist. A deputy steps toward me, and I lower the boy on my hip to his feet and then squat next to him.

  Our eyes meet, and it’s as if Malik is staring back at me. “Your name isn’t Timmy, is it?”

  The child toys with the pearl necklace at my collar again.

  “It’s okay, darling,” I say.

  At the same time, Henny yells at the child, “I told you to stay in your room.”

  “Is his room the shed?” I snap back at the woman struggling in Chet’s arms. Deputy Boone clears his throat.

  “Get the child out of here,” he barks at the second officer. He gestures toward me. “Her too.”

  Then he turns on Henny. “Mrs. Heiner, would you like to start over with your story?”

  Henny lets out a horrific scream, and I instinctively pull the child into me. An officer approaches us, but I’m not handing over the boy.

  “I’ll go with you,” I say to the second officer and turn back for one more glance at a broken woman. My eyes find Chet, but his are dazed while he struggles with the woman in his arms. His face is etched in pain and confusion. He wants to know how he could have misread her all those years ago.

  “She didn’t deserve those children,” Henny whisper-groans, and my heart drops at the start of her confession. I don’t hear the rest as I carry the child in my arms out to the sheriff’s car.

  Chapter 29

  Dance Parties Have Soul

  [Chet]

  I watch as Scotia disappears out the front door with a miniature Malik in her arms, the boy clutching at her pearl necklace. I’d give anything to follow her, but in my arms is a broken woman, crumpling to pieces.

  “Mrs. Heiner, would you like to start over?” Boone asks her, and Henny falls into body-shuddering sobs. She’s lost so much. Her husband. Her children. Her father’s company. But it isn’t going to change my heart. She was an entitled child looking for wealth and prestige, and she has had no boundaries as an adult.

  My eyes stay trained on the door. Another officer takes over holding Henny, cuffing her as her Miranda rights are read, but I don’t hear them. I’m released to exit the cabin. The car with Scotia and the child has already left the premises.

  I need to call Maura and the caseworker, Veronica Mason, but I want to know how Scotia found the child.

  And for once, I might be glad Scotia didn’t listen to me.

  That damn woman, I softly chuckle to myself, surprised to accept that her meddling helped in this situation.

  I wait until Henny is escorted to the second vehicle, and then I climb into my truck and blindly follow the sheriff’s car to the department. By the time I get there, Veronica Mason is present, and Scotia has been sent home. Maura appears shortly after I arrive at the station.

  “Scotia offered to go to the house and sit with the boys
,” Maura tells me, and I nod, accepting it’s going to be a long night.

  Hours later, we return to Harper House with a sleepy boy in summer pjs and a blanket wrapped around him. Until we can further identify him, Veronica Mason, his new caseworker, has asked Maura to keep the boy overnight, especially given he’s told us Malik is his older brother. Omari Evans is six years old, according to him, and his brother is nine. Veronica doesn’t press for more details about his life as he’s young, and a specialized investigator needs to be present to properly question him. That person can’t get to us until tomorrow. Until then, we’ve been sent off with strict instructions not to ask him about his experience. We don’t want to accidentally influence his answers. Veronica is the final car in our caravan back to the house where Scotia has been waiting with the sleeping boys.

  Only when we arrive, well into the wee hours of the morning, the house is lit like a beacon in the dark. I pick up a sleeping Omari from Veronica’s back seat. As we near the house, music hits our ears, and we open the front door to thumping bass and someone calling out movements. As I enter the great room, I find the boys in various states of nightwear from sweats and T-shirts to dinosaur pajamas, and in the middle of the group is a barefoot Scotia in her slim skirt, blouse untucked, hair up, doing the Macarena.

  I watch for a full minute as she moves her arms in a complicated series of motions before jumping to her side, and the boys follow along with the music. Veronica stands beside me equally flabbergasted by the scene before us, but Maura walks to the couch, retrieves a remote, and mutes the music.

  A chorus of confusion echoes in the room as the boys look around and notice the three adults at the edge of the room.

  “Oh,” Scotia says, slightly out of breath. She swipes at a loose lock near her face, and she’s never looked so beautiful to me. Is that a K’Nex piece holding up the rest of her hair? I want to rush her, tug her into my arms and kiss the daylights out of her in front of everyone. Instead, I take a deep breath, taking in the flushed faces of the boys all frozen in various forms of chagrin and concern when only moments ago, they were laughing and calling out the directions of the song.

  “What’s going on here?” Maura interjects, eyeing each boy as they slowly lower their heads. Scotia looks just as guilty but straightens hers.

  “We were dancing.”

  “I can see that,” Maura retorts. “But do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “It’s party time,” Louie deadpans, and Hunter chuckles beside him. Hugh grabs the back of his little brother’s neck like I’ve done to him a hundred times, and Louie winces.

  “Technically, we were not having a party,” Dewey clarifies. “It was a dance.”

  Scotia bites her lip, and the urge to kiss her returns.

  “Mrs. Pickle started it,” Hunter tattletales.

  “I did no such thing,” she chuffs, and Hugh shakes his head as though he’s exasperated. They might have already had this discussion.

  “Technically, Dewey started it,” Campbell clarifies. “He challenged Mrs. Pickle to the Cha Cha Slide.”

  “It’s a part of the dance lessons in physical education,” Dewey explains.

  “Why aren’t they teaching you how to play basketball?” I question, my face scrunching.

  “Because of the new common core. Actually, Physical Education isn’t one of the core classes regulated by the state standards, but it’s required we learn a variety of kinetic outlets, dance being one of them.”

  “What happened to square dancing?” I ask, still stumped that the boys are learning something like the Cha Cha Slide in school.

  “How do squares dance?” Hunter asks, and then he yawns.

  “Never mind. You hooligans need to be in bed,” Maura directs, waving her arm as if sweeping the gaggle up the stairs.

  The only one who doesn’t move or speak is Malik. Tears pour down his face as he stares at the sleeping form in my arms.

  “Chet,” Scotia says, her voice quiet, and I step forward. None of the boys move much other than to give Malik some space as he remains next to Scotia.

  “Hey, little man. Do you know this guy?” I squat, slipping Omari’s sleepy body between my bent knees.

  “Malik!” the little boy shrieks, squirming to get out of my arms until I set him free to run to his brother. Malik pulls him into a tight hug, swiping at his own face repeatedly, but the tears don’t stop. I glance up to find Scotia struggling just as much. Her hand lifts to the back of Malik’s head and she pulls him to her while he still embraces his brother.

  “I told you he was a good man,” she repeats over and over, swiping her fingers through his hair. She bends over him to kiss his head.

  I slowly right myself to standing.

  Veronica steps forward and addresses Malik. “I take it you recognize this boy.” Her voice is calm and controlled. Malik nods, his head still lowered toward his younger brother, who hasn’t let go of him. Hugh claps a hand on Malik’s shoulder, and Louie steps forward to pat the back of the younger brother. Campbell squeezes in to hug the siblings, and then Dewey opens his arms around the collection as best he can. Only Hunter stands to the side, staring at the group of them.

  “Why is everyone crying?” he asks, and Scotia starts to chuckle, swiping at her cheeks.

  “Because we’re so happy,” she says, looking at him with the grace of a mother, and I realize at that moment, I’m in love with her. I love Scotia Simmons. For all her harsh words and strong opinions, Scotia has a huge heart, and she’s taken to loving the most important part of my life—these boys.

  The thought hits me hard, and I rub at my chest. The urge to step up to the group and just kiss her senseless returns, but I hold back, vibrating with the need to touch her skin. She anchors me, and until this moment, I didn’t realize how untethered I’ve been.

  “Y’all are strange. You laugh when you’re happy, not cry. And I still want to know how squares dance.” This causes Scotia to actually laugh a little bit more, and I love the sound. I want this entire room to reverberate with it. For a second, I have a vision of Scotia standing in this room every day, just as she is—shirt untucked, hair pinned up with a construction toy, laughing as she loves these boys.

  Maura walks over to the hugging heap.

  “Alright, all my fine gentlemen, time for bed. Malik, we’ll put Omari with you.” The boys slowly break apart, and Maura leads the crew toward the front hallway.

  “I should help her,” I state, and Scotia nods.

  “I’ll be going,” Veronica Mason says when neither Scotia nor I move from looking at one another.

  “Thank you,” I finally say, pulling my attention back to the caseworker for a second. She holds out her hand to shake.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours.” She softly chuckles, as morning is growing closer. “And I’ll see myself out.” As Scotia and I haven’t really moved, Veronica offers one final smile and exits.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was,” Scotia says as soon as Veronica leaves the room.

  I wave a hand to dismiss her. “Looked like fun, darlin’.”

  Slowly, she smiles. “It was fun. Dewey woke up and started questioning me, and the discussion was only meant to be a distraction. I guess things got out of hand a bit.” Her face still glows from the tears she shed, and her makeup is smeared a bit from it. With her hair up and her feet bare, she looks casual and comfortable standing in this big room with all the lights on and the paused music video on the television over the fireplace.

  “How are you?” she asks, and the current situation slams into me. Henny at the sheriff’s department. Omari and Malik reunited. Two small boys still without their family.

  “We’ll know more in the morning, I suspect. A social worker will come to further assess Omari and Malik, and then the sheriff’s department will want to speak with them. It’s all a process until we can find out where they are from and then find their parents.”

  I take a deep breath, stepping closer to
her. “Darlin’, just what the hell were you thinking?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even but recalling her wandering around Henny’s cabin and finding that boy.

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “How did you know he was out there?” I’ve been wondering this all night.

  “I didn’t. I just heard a noise when I left the truck.”

  “The truck I told you to stay in,” I admonish, but my tone has no bite.

  She shrugs. “I have difficulty being told what to do.” She smiles, but I’m still wound up at the thought of her wandering around Henny’s place.

  “What if something had happened to you?” I brush back the hair near her face, curling it over her ear. Her eyes widen, focusing on mine.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Well, I have,” I admit, taking another deep breath because if something had happened to her, I’d never forgive myself, and I’m not certain how I’d live without this woman in my life. I lower my forehead to hers, and her hand cups my cheek, fingernails softly scratching my beard.

  “But how are you?”

  I blow out a breath, pulling back to look at her. “I’m exhausted,” I admit, feeling emotionally drained, A crash after the adrenaline rush of the last few hours settles in. I exhale once more before admitting, “I need you.”

  “Anything,” she whispers, and I reach for the white strip of her hair, curling the strands around my thick finger.

  “Stay with me tonight. Stay here with us.”

  “Would that be appropriate?” she questions, looking off toward the entry and the staircase leading up.

  “Nothing we do is appropriate, darlin’, yet I can’t think of anyone I want to be more inappropriate with than you.”

  She softly chuckles. “I look a mess,” she says, reaching up for the toy in her hair.

  “You look beautiful, darlin’. You look like you belong here,” I add, letting emotions ripple out of me in my exhaustion. My finger releases her white hair and starts the process over again.