In This Together

by Kara Lennox

  “I’m sure he can make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Okay. If he’s agreeable, have him contact Abel Koontz. He’s the family lawyer who works with my estate lawyer. Do you need his number?”

  “No, I’ve got it. Thank you, Daniel. I don’t know... It’s very gracious of you to help. There aren’t any strings attached, are there?”

  “No, Elena, no strings. I’m going to try to help Eric because it’s the right thing to do and not for any other reason.” With that he hung up.

  If he had insisted she forgive him in return for helping Travis, would she have done it? Maybe. Already she could feel herself softening toward Daniel. He was trying to make things right, after all. He’d had to swallow a boatload of pride to call her.

  Travis had given up all pretense of scraping windows. He stood only a few feet away, his arms folded. “What was that about?”

  Elena stood up so she could look Travis in the eye when she gave him the news. “Daniel said that Project Justice will take on Eric’s case.”

  Travis looked as if he didn’t dare hope. He was still suspicious. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Elena, that’s...that’s...” He couldn’t find the words. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She was stiff with surprise at first, but after a second or two she softened, melting against him, her mouth greedily kissing him back.

  A loud banging in the next room was an unwelcome reminder that they weren’t alone. He pulled back.

  She smiled mischievously. “You’re welcome. Oh, Travis, I forgot to tell you. It’s not all good news.” She squeezed his hand. “Project Justice has a backlog. Three months. And there’s more bad news.” She told him what Daniel had reported about all the other couples waiting to adopt MacKenzie.

  Travis sagged slightly. “I should have expected that, I suppose. MacKenzie is a sweet little girl—who wouldn’t want to have her as their daughter?”

  “If you can stop the first adoption, it will at least buy you some time,” she pointed out.

  “But then what? What if the next couple in line is worse than the Stovers?”

  “Travis, there’s one thing you can do. You can adopt MacKenzie yourself. Daniel has a family law attorney standing by, waiting to help you do that.”

  Travis was already shaking his head. “I can’t do that. I’m a bachelor living in a tiny apartment, I work all the time....How would I take care of her? I’d have to move to a bigger place and even then—”

  “Do you want Eric to lose his daughter?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Then stop throwing roadblocks in front of yourself! If you love MacKenzie, you can figure out a way to be a father to her. All these reasons you don’t want to adopt her are just excuses, because for some reason you don’t think you’re worthy enough to be a dad. Why, because you aren’t some fancy lawyer? Because you’re lousy at reading? Because a bunch of stupid teachers said you’d never amount to anything? What are you afraid of? Why don’t you prove them wrong?”

  Travis stared at her, his jaw hanging open, obviously shocked by her outburst. She was shocked herself. She wasn’t even sure where those accusations had come from.

  Even if she was right about him, it wasn’t her place to say such things.

  She looked away. “I’m sorry. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.”

  In all the time they’d been together, he’d never looked at her with such hostility. Even in those few moments before he’d kidnapped her, and he’d been pretty angry then.

  Finally he found his voice. “I think you’ve helped me enough.”

  “But the application—”

  “I can finish the rest on my own. Email it to me.”

  “Okay,” she said in a small voice. Clearly she’d touched a nerve. “I’ll send you that lawyer’s phone number. You can use it or not.” She retreated behind her laptop to do as he’d asked.

  Why was she going so far out of her way to help him, anyway? He hadn’t asked her to. He’d told her several times that he wanted her out of his life. But she’d convinced herself he didn’t mean it.

  Apparently he did.

  She’d thought that after what they went through, they’d forged some kind of bond. But it must have been all in her head.

  “I just sent the form to your phone,” she said, but when she looked up he was gone. He’d retreated to some other part of the house.

  This was for the best, she reassured herself. She’d jumped on board Travis’s cause because it was easier than what she really ought to be doing, which was figuring out some things about her own life.

  Elena turned off her laptop, closed it and got to her feet. This was it, then. She wouldn’t ever see Travis again.

  Her eyes filled with tears. What was the matter with her?

  But deep down, she knew. She was falling for Travis. Falling in love like a schoolgirl. But she was going there alone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TRAVIS STARED AT the lawyer’s number on the screen of his phone for a long time—so long, in fact, that his breakfast of eggs and sausage got cold.

  He had finished the Project Justice application last night after he’d knocked off work for the day. The only part he and Elena hadn’t finished was a personal statement about why he thought his brother’s case deserved the attention and resources the foundation could give it.

  With Elena doing the typing, they could have knocked it out in a few minutes. Instead, Travis had been forced to go to the library—the main Houston library, which was open late—load the form on to the computer there and painstakingly type out his statement one excruciating word at a time.

  It wasn’t just the spelling that flummoxed him. Just getting the words from his brain to his typing fingers was a struggle. A teacher had once explained to him that writing was more difficult for him than most people because he’d done so little of it, and the connections in the brain that were formed from doing something over and over had never been created. The older he got, the less malleable his brain was and the harder it would be to ever make those connections.

  When he was done, and the library was about to close, he asked one of the librarians to look over the two paragraphs he’d written. She kindly corrected a couple of misspelled words, fixed some commas and added a word he’d left out completely.

  “There. I think you’re good,” the thin, gray-haired woman had said, patting him on the shoulder as if he were a child. He asked her for one more favor—to email the form to Project Justice. As exhausted as he was, he didn’t trust himself to type in the address correctly.

  “Project Justice,” she said as she effortlessly typed the letters and numbers. “Is that the company that helps people who are in prison but shouldn’t be?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, good luck. I hope they can help you. And if you need any more assistance with the computer, I’m here most evenings.”

  “Thanks.” He was touched by her helpful attitude. He’d never asked a librarian for anything. Previously, his only experience with them was when they told him to be quiet or kicked him out of the school library for causing trouble. Maybe Elena was right about some things—like it was possible he made things more difficult for himself than they needed to be. He did tend to live his life more modestly than he had to. He was an excellent contractor and craftsman, and he could have grown his business and made more money if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t challenged himself to be a big success—maybe because, in his head, Eric was destined to be the successful one.

  He wasn’t “that Riggs boy” anymore. There was only so much he could blame on a learning disability, one that plenty of people overcame, or so he’d been told. He’d made his life what it was.

  For years he’d been so consumed wi
th Eric’s issues that he hadn’t thought much about his own life. It was time to take stock. At age thirty-three, he was the owner of his own company. Sure, it didn’t pull in the big bucks, but he paid his bills and he employed a number of people, helping them to take care of their families. With a little effort, he could take on more work, employ more people, move into a higher income bracket.

  Discounting the past few days, he hadn’t been in any kind of trouble since getting out of jail almost ten years ago. He was in good health, he paid taxes, he got along with his neighbors, most of whom he never saw.

  But his personal life was a disaster. Or, rather, it was nonexistent. He’d been close to Eric and his family, but he really didn’t have any other friends, and since Judith, his love life had been limited to occasional one-night stands that didn’t have a ghost of a chance of lasting longer than a condom or two.

  He’d convinced himself that he didn’t like people very much. He preferred to be alone, working with his hands. He understood wood and concrete and steel.

  But Elena liked him. Or at least she’d liked him a little, until he’d told her to get out of his life. MacKenzie liked him, too, although it was hard to tell, as she was not effusive with her emotions. Still, sometimes she wanted to sit in his lap or hold his hand.

  For a moment, he allowed himself to think about what it might be like to have full custody of MacKenzie.

  He wouldn’t be her father. He could never replace Eric and would never want to. But could he take care of her? At least better than those horrid Stovers?

  He would have to move into a new place. His studio apartment didn’t have a separate bedroom for MacKenzie. And he would have to arrange for childcare after school and on holidays. He could enroll her in day care, he supposed, but that would mean foisting her off on strangers again.

  Some type of nanny would be better, but that could be costly. Still, he could swing it. He’d been offered bigger jobs—more profitable jobs—than his usual, but he always turned them down, telling himself he didn’t really want the hassle.

  But maybe he was afraid, like Elena said. Afraid of challenging himself because he didn’t want to grow and he didn’t want to fail.

  Her comments yesterday had stung. But now that he’d had time to let them sink in, he wondered if she might be right.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Travis woke up early, dressed with particular care and headed straight to the social worker’s office to show her the evidence he had against the Stovers. Maybe what they did wasn’t exactly criminal, but it was morally indefensible. The only way Eric had of showing MacKenzie he loved her was to buy her presents, and her foster parents had taken them away.

  Missy’s office opened at eight-thirty. It was eight-fifteen when Travis pulled into the parking lot. He had fifteen minutes to kill.

  He pulled out his phone and studied the email Elena had sent yesterday with the lawyer’s phone number. His finger hovered over the number, highlighted in blue on his phone screen. One touch, and he could put the call through.

  Maybe he wasn’t the best-qualified guardian in the world. But why not let an unbiased expert make that call? He dialed Koontz’s number.

  * * *

  IT WAS THANKSGIVING DAY, but Elena wasn’t feeling the spirit of gratitude. Her mother was in a frenzy of cooking. So many things to be done. She’d invited a bunch of “family”—very distant relations, if they were even related at all—for dinner because she loved to cook for a houseful of people.

  Elena was all too willing to help. If she kept her hands busy and her mind occupied, maybe she could stop thinking about Travis. Ever since his harsh dismissal last week, she’d been crying on and off.

  She had talked to Daniel twice, but she wasn’t ready to go back to work. She hadn’t had a vacation in years; maybe she was just tired and needed a rest.

  Or maybe she would resign—not to spite Daniel, though. She’d been feeling restless even before the kidnapping. Accepting a job as Daniel’s assistant had been impossible to turn down, and she’d enjoyed it a lot at first. She was good at anticipating and meeting his needs.

  But she wanted something more. She had a degree in business, and she’d always thought that someday she would run her own company. She had successfully launched the Logan Oil day care center—she’d submitted a budget, located the physical space, overseen the renovation, hired people—and sometimes she’d wiped sticky fingers and changed diapers.

  She liked being in charge of something, she realized. But what?

  She would have to make some decisions soon. Daniel had said to take her time, but he could only be so patient. He needed an assistant.

  Rosalie had put Elena to work getting some stains out of her good tablecloth and napkins. She stood at the sink using cold water, soap and a soft brush on a gravy stain. “I thought you didn’t like this tablecloth because it was so hard to get the wrinkles out.”

  “Well, it’s still nice.” Rosalie sat at the kitchen table going through her recipe file and making a shopping list. “Are there enough of the cloth napkins? I’m counting fourteen.”

  “Fourteen! Mama, where will we put them all?”

  “Cousin Marietta is bringing a friend. I couldn’t say no. The children can sit at the picnic table on the covered porch. The weather is supposed to warm up and be nice. Easy on the tablecloth. You’re about to scrub a hole in it.”

  She was. The stain was gone and probably had been for some time. She rinsed it well and took it outside to hang on the clothesline to dry. Her mother abhorred electric clothes dryers and refused to have one in the house, although she’d come to terms with the washing machine. Jury was still out on the dishwasher.

  Fourteen people. At least five of them were kids; Elena carried a stack of stoneware dishes—the ones from her childhood that were indestructible—out to the covered porch. It was still a little chilly out there, but the sun was out and in a couple of hours, when dinner was served, it would be comfortable.

  She spread a colorful tablecloth over the picnic table, one she remembered from many Thanksgivings ago, when she was relegated to the children’s table. She made short work of setting out plates and silverware. She wondered where the covered dish was that was shaped like a turkey. Kids always loved that. Usually Rosalie filled it with beans and rice.

  She set the dining room table for nine. It was going to be crowded.

  Let’s see, her parents, her aunt, uncle and herself made five. Then there was Tanta Maria’s abuela, her grown quasi-cousin Marietta, Marietta’s friend and... Who was that last person?

  “Mama, who’s the fourteenth person?” Elena called to her mother in the kitchen as she dragged the card table inside from the garage.

  “I don’t know what you mean, fourteenth person. It’s all the usual ones, plus Marietta’s friend.”

  “So, it’s you and me and Papa, Tanta Maria and Cesar, Marietta plus her friend and the five kids—that’s still only thirteen.”

  “Right. Thirteen is an unlucky number to have at dinner.” Rosalie crossed herself.

  “Okaaay...so who is lucky fourteen?” And why was her mother acting so cagey?

  “Elena, I think your father’s calling you. You promised to keep an eye on him and that meat smoker—honestly, he is going to burn the house down with that thing.”

  Uh-huh. “Mama, you’re not trying to fix me up, are you? Because the last time you did that, I wound up almost kissing my own cousin.”

  “I forgot he was a cousin! Anyway, he was a second or third cousin, and don’t hold that against me the rest of my life.”

  “Whoever it is, you can just un-invite him. If you’re worried about thirteen at the table, I’ll eat in my room.”

  “Don’t be silly. Go on—see what your father wants.”

  Great. Just great. As if she didn’t have enough t
o worry about, now her mother was foisting unwanted potential boyfriends on her.

  Her father wasn’t really calling, but Elena went out to the backyard anyway. Elmer and her uncle Cesar—not a real uncle, but as close as one—were standing guard over the smoker.

  “There’s my girl,” Elmer said with a smile.

  “Hey, pequeña, how’s my favorite honorary niece?” Cesar asked.

  Elena gave Cesar a hug. “Pretty good,” she answered automatically, because to answer truthfully would be a real downer.

  “You still working for the billionaire?”

  Elmer made a hissing noise and slashed a finger across his throat.

  “It’s okay, Papa. I’m taking a leave of absence. I might be ready for a change. I know, it seems stupid to leave a job that’s so cushy and pays so well, but...”

  “She’s mad at her boss,” Elmer said. “He lied to her.”

  “Ah. So it’s a matter of principle,” Cesar said.

  “Sort of,” Elena agreed.

  “Principle doesn’t keep you warm at night, pequeña. In this economy, for the right salary, I could overlook a whole lot of principle.”

  Elena smiled and shook her head. “I’m still mulling things over. Hey, Papa, Mama is setting me up again. She invited someone to dinner, but she won’t tell me who.”

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t interfere in your personal life.”

  “So she didn’t say anything to you?”

  “Not a word.”

  Elena groaned. Whoever the poor schmuck was, she couldn’t un-invite him at this late hour. He probably had nowhere else to go.

  The rest of the dinner guests started arriving at around noon. There was lots of hugging, lots of rapid Spanish, exclamations about how Elena was prettier every time they saw her and how much the children had grown.

  Elena ate it all up. Ever since going to work for Daniel, she hadn’t seen as much of everybody because she worked such long hours, and even when she wasn’t working, she was on call. She might actually miss the frenetic activities associated with Daniel’s busy schedule—arranging meetings, planning parties, making reservations for hotels and limos and haircuts and massages.