by Leigh Riker
“Like the other night,” she repeated. Together, they strapped Laila into the diaper. “You take over now,” she said. “I recommend putting an undershirt or a onesie on her tonight. We’re supposed to get more icy rain, and the room you’re in has some drafty windows. Then she needs her sleeper, that footed one.” She paused. “If you think she still might be cold, you can zip her into her yellow fleece blanket sleeper, too.”
He did as instructed. Having accomplished all this with only a minimum of thrashing from Laila, he stepped back, proud of himself.
“You’re learning fast,” Molly said. The faster, the better for her? “But then, having to think quickly and react in a heartbeat must be a part of you by now.”
“You have no idea.” Dealing with a ten-pound infant was different, though. Way different. “In Afghanistan I was lucky to find that local woman who took care of Laila in those first weeks. Didn’t help to put my mind at ease much, though. Every time I collected the baby, I was afraid a bomb had been lobbed into her house, or that I would run over some IED in the road. I was awful glad to get Laila out of there.” He paused. “Caring for a baby with an M-16 slung over my shoulder also isn’t my idea of being a good...guardian.”
“You’re on your way,” Molly murmured with a half smile.
“You mean, on my own?”
His teasing tone and the reminder of what she’d said earlier widened her smile. Brig gazed at her mouth and wished there was a way to erase the past eight years, to have Molly see him at least as a friend again.
“You’re doing fine,” she said.
“You may be right. I had a pretty good day. After your dad agreed to lend me his car this morning, I managed to wrestle Laila’s seat into the back and took her to a pediatrician.”
“Which one? I could have recommended someone.”
He told Molly her name. “A very nice lady who cooed and aahed over Laila, gave her a thorough checkup and told me she’s at the light end of the weight scale. Understandable, when you consider her beginning, but I’m not to worry, the doctor said.”
“Yes, I know her. She’s very good.”
“She adjusted Laila’s diet. The formula we’ve been giving her is okay, but she’ll be better off with a different brand that’ll be a bit easier on her system, as you suggested.” He and Molly exchanged a glance rife with memories of the other night and of cleaning Laila up. “This new one has some kind of growth stuff in it.”
“Good job, Brig.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “A first,” he said, then sobered. “But, Molly, where can my parents be? It’s like they stepped off the planet. I’ve been here three days. I should have heard from them by now.”
“You did tell them not to call. And they didn’t know you were on your way home.” She hesitated. “What about the police? Have you phoned them?”
“Not yet. I couldn’t file a missing persons report for the first twenty-four hours—whenever that was, maybe before I got here. But there’s no reason to suspect foul play. Two adults have every right to go wherever they please.”
Molly snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait. How could I forget? I talked to a neighbor today, Brig. She was ringing your parents’ doorbell, then came over here.” She paused. “I think she likes my dad, but he thinks she’s just a busybody.”
“Yeah, he mentioned her to me. And?” He picked up Laila, who was starting to fuss. Either it was time for a bottle or she was exhausted by all his prodding and poking and was ready for sleep. “Does she have any idea where my folks went?”
“No, but she’s promised to call everyone she knows—all their mutual friends—and get back to me. To you, I mean.”
“That’s great.”
Molly paused. “What about your grandmother? Have you called her?”
Brig felt a twinge of guilt. “A number of times, but there was no answer. I don’t really expect to hear from her. She and I haven’t been on good terms for a while.”
Molly didn’t have to ask why. Eight years ago his grandmother had blamed him for leaving Molly. Ever since, she’d avoided Brig except to send him happy-birthday emails and a care package overseas at Christmastime. He imagined Laila might soften her up, but the rift between them still ran deep.
“Because of me,” Molly said at last.
“Because of you.”
“Well, nothing has turned up yet from anyone. Let’s hope Natalie Brewster has some luck.”
“Let’s hope,” Brig said, referring to his tentative relationship with Molly, too.
CHAPTER SIX
ANN WASN’T GLAD that Ernie Barlow had been hurt the other day—how could she be? But his staying home for two days to heal was a more or less welcome thing, terrible person that she was. Seeing Ernie always meant seeing his father.
She was hanging up miniature coats and stuffing tiny mittens into pockets in the cloakroom just off the main entrance to Little Darlings when she heard a sudden commotion in the hall.
A familiar child’s voice rang out. “Bella! William! I’m back!”
Ann had to smile. Ernie’s irrepressible nature always had that effect.
Still, her breath caught in her throat. She wished there was a Mrs. Barlow around to bring her son to day care sometimes. But there wasn’t, and in the coatroom Ann had nowhere to run.
Predictably, from the hallway she heard Jeff Barlow’s worried voice next, urging Ernie to slow down. That wasn’t likely to happen. Four-year-old boys could barely contain their energy, and after two days at home, Ernie was obviously raring to see his friends again.
After another word from his dad, he barreled into the coatroom before Ann could prepare herself.
“Hi, Miss Ann! I’m here.”
“Yes, I can see you are.” Shocked by the sight of him, Ann clutched her throat. Oh, would you look at that? Her morning coffee roiled in her stomach. Ernie’s forehead was red and purple and blue, lined with angry-looking stitches that also ran the length of his swollen nose. Yet he was beaming.
“Welcome back, Ernie,” she said, her tone overly bright so he wouldn’t know his wounds had shaken her. When he tumbled into her arms, Ann couldn’t help herself. She let him stay there for a moment too long, just holding him, hurting for him. She was easing back, trying to compose herself, one hand lifted to smooth down Ernie’s stubborn cowlick, when Jeff stepped in.
“Hi,” he said, and Ann’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t answered any of his calls since he’d said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and now she was caught in a snare.
She nodded at him, then busied herself helping Ernie out of his puffy down jacket. She guided the boy to the empty hook in the cubby marked with his name. “I’ve got this,” she said to Jeff Barlow. “You can go or you’ll be late for work.”
“It’s my off day.” He came closer. “In fact, I took several days after Ernie got whacked. Might as well use the rest of it today. There’s never enough time to do chores around the house.”
She ignored Jeff’s words and busied herself tidying the cubby across from Ernie’s. She heard, rather than saw, Ernie slam into Jeff’s knees. When she turned, Jeff was holding his son by his narrow shoulders, his face a study in anguished love, eyes closed. Then he opened them and blinked.
“Have a good day, chief,” he murmured. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt today in place of his uniform—she should have realized he wasn’t working. He planted a kiss on Ernie’s rumpled hair, then gently aimed him toward the hall. “Remember what I told you.”
Ernie didn’t answer, just gave his dad a backward wave as he raced down the hall and skidded around the corner into his classroom with total disregard for his injuries. Jeff watched until he disappeared. His hands were knotted into fists.
Now that she and Jeff were alone, Ann felt another clutch of panic.
She cou
ldn’t help asking, “What did you tell him?”
“That if that kid comes at him again, he should knock him flat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Combating violence with more violence. Now there’s a strategy, Sheriff.”
“The only one that works with bullies.”
“Well, I guess we’ll agree to disagree.” On that, too, she added silently.
She took a step, intent on hurrying away to the nursery, but Jeff caught her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. There’s no phone line between us now. Question—what do you think I want from you, Annie? And why does that scare you?”
“You’ve asked two questions, and you’re missing the point. I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, but there was still none of the usual smile on his face or in his voice. “In my work I’m pretty good at reading people. For instance, I can usually tell if a suspect is lying, and break him down fast.” He paused. “Or if she’s trying to cover up, I can sweet-talk her into telling me the truth.”
“Good cop, bad cop,” she murmured.
“So why won’t you even talk to me?”
“I’m talking to you now.”
He remained silent for a moment, seemingly mulling over his thoughts. At last he said, “I won’t deny that speaking to your answering machine has already gotten old, and it ticks me off. But I’m also as stubborn as that cowlick on Ernie’s head.”
That was not what she wanted to hear. “My,” she murmured, “being married to you must have been a walk in the park.”
His eyes darkened. “It wasn’t. I’ll tell you about that sometime. After we get to know each other better.”
“Jeff—”
“And maybe you’ll spill the beans to me about yourself. Until then—”
She eased her arm from his grasp. “I need to go. I have babies to take care of.” Then she paused. “I’ll keep an eye on Ernie today. We all will.”
And she saw Jeff’s broad shoulders sag. He leaned against the door frame, blocking her exit. In that instant their nonrelationship and his unwanted questions ceased to be an issue. Jeff’s thoughts had clearly shifted back to his son. “You can’t imagine how I felt when Molly called to tell me Ernie had been hurt. It’s the first time, really, except for his falling off his tricycle and bashing his chin last summer or skinning his knees when he tried to climb the tree in our yard. And those he did to himself.”
“He’s a typical boy.”
“Yeah—all boy—and so was I. I get a kick out of that with him. But that other kid needs exactly what I told Ernie to give him.” Jeff’s eyes flashed with anger. “However. To avoid bloodshed I’d settle for talking to the kid myself. I’ll set him straight in a hurry.”
Ann took a breath. “I’m not a fan of the ‘if you don’t behave I’ll call the cops’ theory of parenting, but I can’t recommend your dealing directly with Benjamin Crandall, either.”
Jeff ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.” When he spoke again, his voice shook. “Ernie’s a tough little guy. I’d like to say that when I saw my son’s face the other day, it hurt me more than it did him. But that’s not true.” Jeff studied the floor. “He didn’t sleep all that night. The stitches and his bruises kept him awake. The pills they gave him at the E.R. didn’t help much. His tears broke me in half. I shared his bed—and held him—and I swear, I wanted to hurt someone for hurting him. You’re right, I shouldn’t, and I won’t, Annie. Except—”
She couldn’t help but understand. Her first view of Ernie this morning had shaken her, too, even when she knew his bruises would fade, and his stitches were already starting to knit. Ernie was such a cute kid...a good person like his much bigger father.
Without thinking, Ann reached out and touched Jeff’s cheek. She knew just how much he loved his child.
For Ann, it was a dangerous realization. Because she knew that he could come to love her a lot, too.
“Don’t call me Annie,” she said, but this time she pretty much whispered the words, and they held no heat.
Jeff smiled a little, which looked a lot to her like sympathy.
“You keep on covering up that soft side of yours for a while longer,” he said, “but in the meantime, after school, Ernie and I are going to celebrate his return to day care with some ice cream at Graeter’s. Why don’t you join us?”
It was a siren call. An alarm.
“I’ll think about it” was all she said.
* * *
MOLLY WAS IN the kitchen fixing dinner when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting company. She rapped a spoon against a pot on the stove. “Pop!” she called, then went back to stirring the spaghetti sauce that kept wanting to burn. “Will you get that?”
“On my way,” he said, and she heard him shut the TV off.
It didn’t occur to her who their caller might be. Her day at Little Darlings had been busier than usual. One of her teachers had called in sick, so Molly had monitored the three-year-olds along with seeing to her normal duties. She’d also been distracted all day by her churning thoughts about Brig and their first lesson for Laila. The last thing she wanted right now was to make small talk with a neighbor—unless it was one of the Colliers stopping by to say they were home.
Which they weren’t, she knew, because she had a good view of their house from the kitchen window. So she stayed where she was, waiting for Pop to open the door.
“There you are, Thomas!” a woman declared.
Molly recognized the voice and sensed trouble brewing. She picked up on her father’s silence as clearly as if he’d spoken. After a long moment he finally said, “Miss Brewster. What a surprise.”
“I knew you couldn’t hide from me much longer, you wicked man. I’m coming in, thank you very much—since you haven’t asked me.”
Molly heard the rustle of fabric, then the sound of the woman’s bulk settling into a chair or the sofa. Natalie launched right into the reason for her visit.
“Your daughter offered to donate some things for our rummage sale. I volunteered you to deliver them. I’m thinking tomorrow would be good.” Thomas didn’t respond, and she rushed on. “I’ll be there to help organize the displays. We’ve already gotten quite a few pieces of cast-off furniture, some of them not easy to move. You could help there, too.”
Still no response from Pop. Molly knew she shouldn’t keep listening, but the kitchen was right there, and she couldn’t very well breeze through the dining and living rooms to the stairs. Besides, she’d risk blackening her spaghetti sauce if she left.
“I like a man with a solid look to him,” Natalie said. “Not like some of my friends’ husbands who are all skin and bones.” She stopped, but only for a second. “They’ll be there as well, so you’ll have other men to talk to. Say, around noon?”
“I’m busy that day.”
“Oh. Then how about the next? We still have time,” she said. “And you, Thomas, need to get out of this house now and then.”
“Now and then,” he agreed. “But not tomorrow and not the next day—or any other in this case. I can’t work myself up about a rummage sale.”
She didn’t comment, but Molly felt a twinge of empathy for Natalie Brewster.
“That’s my story,” he said with a faint smile in his tone. “And I’m sticking to it.”
She sighed. “Do you think I didn’t know you were lurking behind those curtains over there while I tried to rouse Bess Collier the other day? Hiding in the kitchen here while I talked to Molly?”
At the stove Molly gave the pot another stir, then lowered the heat.
Her father said, “I’m not a liar! I’ll ‘hide’ behind the drapes if I want to.”
Goodness, but he’d lost his social graces since her mother died. Or was his crotchetiness a sign of dementia?
&nbs
p; Time to make an appearance. Molly felt as if she was about to break up some scuffle at Little Darlings. But what if Natalie had other reasons for dropping by now?
Molly strolled into the living room and again, caught a look on her father’s face that reminded her of someone wanting something he didn’t have.
“Hello, Natalie. I’d apologize for my dad, but that’s his job.” She eyed Pop pointedly.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Before Molly could say another word, he left the living room and went upstairs. Moments later a door closed on the second floor. Molly could only hope the sound didn’t waken Laila or Brig, who were still adjusting to the more than seven hour time difference between Ohio and Afghanistan. Well, that and another sleepless night due to Laila’s refusal to accept her new schedule.
She turned to Natalie, whose face looked as black as a thundercloud. In contrast, she wore a cheerful flowing coral-pink shirt and pants as if dressed for a social occasion. Man hunting, Pop might have called it. Or would he?
Now Natalie was all but shaking her head.
“He needs a woman in his life—besides his daughter. I hate having to say that, dear, because I know you love him and you’re alone, too, but it’s true.”
Again, Molly wasn’t that certain. A few hobbies might suit Pop better. Her mother was a hard act to follow, and Natalie wasn’t his type—in the same way Brig could never be right for Molly. Yet she’d seen that look. Twice.
“Anyway.” Natalie dismissed the issue, at least temporarily. “I’ve been making those calls,” she said.
Molly held her breath, hoping for good news.
The bath incident and diaper lesson had brought Molly into much too close contact with Brig, and she couldn’t help but hope Brig and Laila might soon move next door—for her own safety.
“I’ve learned nothing,” Natalie said at last. “I’ve called everyone in town—our mutual friends, plus those I remember are either Bess or Joe’s—and even tried contacting their doctor. He’s the same one I use. He couldn’t tell me anything. Their dentist, too. I hoped maybe Bess had an upcoming appointment that had been canceled with some explanation that would help. If you ask me, this is very strange. They would have told someone they were leaving town, don’t you think?”