by Leigh Riker
She followed Jeff. By then other people had begun to gather on the normally quiet street, her father among them. He came out of their house with Laila. Obviously he’d wrapped the baby hastily, in a blanket, because one tiny arm was sticking out. Molly noticed some of the neighbors.
Oh, and wouldn’t you know? Here came Natalie, questions flying as she hustled up the front walk.
“Who’s hurt? How can I help?” she asked, bustling around to the side of the house before Molly could get there. “Is it Thomas?”
Now, why would Molly’s father be involved?
Natalie obviously hadn’t noticed him there with Laila, maybe because Pop was edging around the perimeter of the yard, hoping not to be seen. Where Natalie was concerned, he’d developed his own radar. Still, he was in plain sight.
Molly kept walking. If this was a crime scene, it had already been trampled by at least a dozen people. All of them had gathered by now under what Molly knew to be the Colliers’ bedroom.
Was the burglar still inside? Jeff was standing at the foot of what appeared to be her father’s extension ladder. She looked up, too—and saw Brig, frozen on one step.
“Come on down,” Jeff said. “Looks like there’s something we need to talk about here.” His hand lingered on his holster.
“Sheriff, I can explain—” Brig began.
“Now,” Jeff said in a harder tone, tightening his grip on the butt of his gun.
Like Molly, Ann came skating across the slippery yard from the center, her breath frosting in the cold air. “What’s going on?” she asked, slipping her arm through Molly’s elbow.
“It must be a robbery,” Natalie announced, drawing her pink chenille bathrobe tighter around her. “But the cops got him.” Thanks to me, she might have said. The look of triumph on her face said she was the one who’d called the police.
“Wouldn’t you know?” Ann murmured.
Brig clambered down the ladder and held out his hand. Jeff didn’t shake it.
“Start talking,” he said. Keeping one eye on Brig, he turned to the crowd. “Go home, everybody. It’s all over. I’ll take it from here.”
Some of the others started to drift off, but Natalie stepped forward.
“Sheriff, you’ll need my statement.”
Jeff sighed. “I know where you live.” He’d probably taken a dozen statements from her about various “crimes.” Natalie was her own Neighborhood Watch. She sashayed toward the sidewalk. And stopped next to Molly.
“I’ve just heard from the neighbors that you want to enlarge your day care center, Molly. None of us are happy about that. I know Thomas owns that triple lot, but building on it would be in violation of the town’s zoning laws. This is a residential area.”
“Yes. I know. I’ll be speaking to the commission about an exemption.”
“As a member myself, I have other worries, too.” She patted Molly’s arm. “Noise, for instance. But we’ll talk about those another time.” She continued through the yard and crossed the street.
Thomas carried Laila over to Molly and Ann. “What was all that?”
“Nosy neighbors,” Molly said. “But it seems as if Brig’s in a bit of trouble.”
He and Jeff were talking quietly by the corner of the house now, their expressions earnest. “I didn’t break in,” she heard Brig say. “It’s my family’s home,” and then he elaborated in a softer tone, words she couldn’t make out.
Thomas moved closer and cleared his throat to get Jeff’s attention. “He’s okay,” he said, much to Molly’s surprise. “I’ve known Brigham Collier since he was in high school.” Laila’s arm waved as if to second the statement.
Jeff didn’t look impressed. “I’ve known a lot of guys who, during or after high school, decided to become career criminals. I appreciate your vouching for him, Mr. Walker, but—”
Molly also made a move. “And you know me, Jeff. I mean, Sheriff Barlow.” She didn’t want to undermine his authority. “Would I lie? Brig is a highly decorated soldier, the commander of a top-secret black-ops unit. He served in Iraq and Afghanistan—”
“Thanks, Molly. Thomas,” Brig added, looking poleaxed that her father had stuck up for him.
Ann might have added her two cents’ worth as well, but Brig wasn’t her favorite person since he’d left Molly. Now she turned away from him, obviously unwilling to add her endorsement.
“The man is staying in my father’s home” was all she said. “Do you really think he’d allow a felon in? And what about this baby?”
“She’s a cutie,” Jeff agreed, reaching out to let Laila grasp his finger, but the look he gave Ann could have melted steel.
After a few more words of support from the lingerers in the crowd and some more conversation with Brig, Jeff appeared satisfied. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled at Brig ruefully.
“Well, I suppose I could take you in—family place or not, you don’t have the right to prowl. But considering the circumstances, I’m letting you go. I’ll be talking to your folks, though.” As if Brig were still a teenager.
“Good luck with that,” he said.
Jeff snapped his holster shut, then gave Brig a quick salute.
“Thanks for your service,” he said, already walking toward Natalie’s house across the street. He gave Ann another look, and Molly heard him sigh again as he passed her, his notebook in hand.
* * *
ANN RAPPED ONCE on the back door, then let herself into her dad’s house. Why hadn’t she said even two words to Jeff about Brigham Collier? It was time she confronted that issue head-on. Thank goodness Pop had met up in the Colliers’ yard with an old friend from work. To her amazement, the two retirees had decided to have lunch at their favorite café in town. Ann knew Molly was back at Little Darlings, working through her own lunch break, and Brig had gone into the house with Laila.
This was her chance. She’d been waiting for the right opportunity ever since Brig had all but moved into the house. Waiting for his parents, Molly had said. Ann didn’t buy that for an instant.
“Hello?” she called out.
Brig came from the living room with the baby in his arms.
“Hey, Ann.” She couldn’t miss his wary regard. “What can I do for you?”
Get out of Molly’s life, she wanted to say.
Instead, she told him, “Congratulations. You won’t have a rap sheet after all. Or should you?”
Brig merely gazed at her.
“But the real question is—” she took a breath “—what are your intentions with my sister?”
Brig almost laughed. “You sound like the outraged parent in some Victorian novel,” he said, but his eyes shifted to the baby in his arms. He wasn’t as confident as he appeared. He knew what she thought of him.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“My intentions? That’s between Molly and me,” he said.
“Assuming you have any—honorable ones, that is.”
“For heaven’s sake, Ann. I realize I’m not your idea of the ideal man, for Molly or anyone else. I know how you felt years ago when we canceled our wedding—”
“You canceled,” she said.
“Right. I did. And that was between Molly and me, too.”
“So now, eight years later, you barge back into her life and we’re all supposed to say, ‘Fine, Brig, never mind what happened then. It’s all good now. Everything’s forgiven.’”
“Not with you, apparently.”
The baby fretted, and Brig spoke softly to quiet her. After a moment she fell asleep again. When he lifted his gaze to Ann once more, she saw anger there and something else. Regret? Guilt?
“No one is sorrier than I am for what I did to Molly. But I don’t owe you any explanations,” he said.
“You don�
�t understand what you did to her. How she felt. Well, I do. I was with her when she put her wedding dress, which she looked so beautiful in, back in its box and paid for an ad in the paper to sell the dress. I was here when she cried herself to sleep night after night for six months, when she could hardly drag herself to work in Cincinnati every morning. I mailed that diamond ring to you myself because she couldn’t bear to even look at it again. Did you know that?”
He flinched. “Ann, stop. This won’t do any good. What’s done is done.”
“Is it? Really? Or is that simply your neat little way of evading responsibility?”
“I accept the responsibility. Molly knows that. And I realize that you and your father have had a very low opinion of me—for good reason. I’m trying to earn Molly’s forgiveness, at least—and to maybe change Thomas’s mind.” He gazed at her for another long moment. “I see it won’t be possible to change yours.”
Ann couldn’t fail to notice the earnestness in his eyes, and maybe she had come on too strong, yet she wanted Brig to be clear on where she still stood.
“Well,” she said, “just so you know, I’m with my father on this. I’m aware of what he told you. If you hurt Molly again, you’ll answer to both of us.”
No one understood better than Ann that whether eight years had passed, or a century, guilt lasted forever.
* * *
ANN WORKED LATE that night. She’d lost time that morning during the “burglary” next door, and the assistant she’d left in charge of her room then was never as thorough or neat as Ann liked. Besides, she felt uneasy about her earlier confrontation with Brig.
There were always things to be done at the center after the babies went home. When she had finished in the nursery, Ann decided to tidy up the older boys’ play area down the hall. Then there were the girls’ dress-up costumes—tiaras and gauzy ballet skirts, a nurse’s outfit with a Red Cross cap, even something that looked to Ann like Snow White’s dress—strewn all over the threes’ room.
Little Darlings indeed.
An image of Ernie flashed through her mind. Not that he was inclined to take part in the girls’ playacting. Ernie preferred the yellow trucks she had already organized by size and function.
The image of him, unfortunately, brought another image with it: of Ernie’s father. Jeff, who had looked, as always, much too good in his sheriff’s uniform that morning, had given her more than one withering glance at the Collier house.
When there was no more left to do, she locked up, cast an eye toward the lights glowing in her father’s house, but rather than stop in as she sometimes did, she trudged the few blocks to her own apartment. With Brig and the baby sharing Molly and Thomas’s quarters, tonight she would just go home.
Her stomach growled. She should go grocery shopping. That morning before work her refrigerator had contained two slices of bologna, a half pint of milk past its sell-by date and some dried-up cheddar cheese she had neglected to wrap.
A bowl of cereal for dinner seemed her only option, because she couldn’t summon the energy to walk five more blocks to the convenience store. Ever since she’d talked to Brig and before that seen Jeff at the Colliers’ house, she’d felt guilty. And depressed.
Her mood lingering, she ignored her car in the parking lot near the front entrance to her building. Pop had changed the oil a few days ago, as if hoping Ann would start to drive again. And maybe she would...someday.
Walking with her head down, she didn’t notice the car that pulled in next to hers. Jeff Barlow got out, strolled toward her and gave her another of those looks.
“You stood us up,” he said mildly in that always too-patient way that made her feel even worse about herself. “You missed our ice cream social yesterday.”
“Jeff, I’m sorry. I just...couldn’t.”
“When I came to get Ernie at the center then, Molly told me you had left to run an errand. She didn’t know if you’d gone for the day.” He paused. “We waited for you until six o’clock.”
Ann’s empty stomach tightened. She couldn’t tell him she had stewed and fretted all afternoon, “thinking about it,” when she’d known all along she wouldn’t join them. She had leaped at the chance to wheel a batch of books to the library using one of the center’s strollers.
He leaned against the hood of his car and peered at her in the dark.
“You don’t like ice cream?”
“I love ice cream.”
“Favorite flavor,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate. “Butter pecan.”
“Mine’s black cherry. Ernie never gets anything but dulce de leche.”
Ann blinked. “What?”
“Means sweet milk in Spanish. Basically, a lot of caramel. I figure he likes it because it’s all sugar. The only time he gets the stuff.”
She started up the path to her building. “Tell him I said hi. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
She took a single step before Jeff said, “He’s here now.” He tilted his head toward his car. Ann could just make out Ernie’s small form buckled into his car seat in the back. When he saw her, he waved. She could make out his mouth moving. Hi, Miss Ann!
Ann waved, too. “How’s his face?”
“Better. See for yourself.” He unwound his long frame from his slouch against the hood. “So here goes. Ernie and I have a bag of fast food.” He reeled off the menu, every one of Ann’s favorites when she allowed herself to indulge.
Her stomach growled a third time.
“It’s cold out here,” Jeff said, “and getting colder. Why don’t I shut off the car, grab that bag and Ernie and we all go inside before the food freezes?”
For a too-long moment Ann hesitated, once more not knowing what to do. That Jeff was sticking way too close for her comfort should have alarmed her more than it did. Why hadn’t he given up? And why—if she was honest with herself—didn’t she want him to?
Confused, she worried her bottom lip. Jeff’s gaze followed the motion. “You haven’t eaten dinner? You must be hungry.”
“All right. Fine,” she said at last, starting up the walk again. “Come in.” See if I care. The childish thought arrived all too easily, as had her surrender. “We’ll eat—Ernie must be starving—and then you can go.”
“Gee, Ann,” he said, opening Ernie’s door, “you really know how to make a guy feel welcome.”
She didn’t want him to feel welcome, even though her mother would have scolded her for that.
Jeff and Ernie followed her into her apartment before Ann could think of any excuse not to open the door.
Jeff moved around her kitchen as if he owned the place.
“Plates?” he asked, and Ann pointed at an upper cabinet. “Knives and forks?” She indicated the middle drawer. She didn’t dare help. It would involve standing too close to Jeff.
By the time he served dinner and poured sodas for Ann and him and chocolate milk for Ernie, her mouth was watering.
“I’m only allowing this because I’m hungry, too,” she said.
“Whatever you need to think.”
“Isn’t this great, Miss Ann?” Ernie asked around his cheeseburger. Ann was happy to note that his face indeed looked better. The bruises were now interesting shades of acid green and yellow, and the skin around his stitches didn’t look as red. The injuries didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, chief,” Jeff said.
After they ate, and before Ann could object, he hustled Ernie off to her second bedroom, which she used as an office. He told his son he could watch Finding Nemo again on Jeff’s iPad, but he had to use the earbuds. Then Jeff sank onto her living room sofa.
“He’ll probably last ten minutes. He’s always exhausted after day care. I’ll end up carrying him to the car.”
“Maybe you shou
ld leave now.”
“Ann.” Jeff studied her for a long moment in that way he had. “Admit it. You liked your burger and fries. Not to mention having company instead of eating another meal alone.” He hesitated. “Don’t you ever cook? Or shop for food? Your fridge is a disaster.”
She blushed. “Thank you so much for looking inside.”
“I was trying to find some ketchup for Ernie’s fries.” He sighed. “What is it with you anyway?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes. I do,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I see. An attractive woman who loves kids. A woman whose face crumples when she looks at Ernie’s stitches, who hurts for him just as I do. But I also see this other person.”
“The one who shuts you out.”
“Exactly. If you’re not interested in me, okay. But I think you are. That’s not male ego talking. I get the vibes, the same ones you get from me. Give me a break, Annie. I’m just divorced,” he said, “not a serial killer.”
Ann tried to shift the topic. “You said your marriage wasn’t easy.”
“Understatement of the decade. No, it wasn’t.” As if he sensed her interest, he went on, “You want to know how I got to this point—giving up a job I loved with CPD? Moved Ernie from Cincy to Liberty Courthouse and became a sheriff’s deputy here? We live in a house half the size of the one we had with her. But all that’s okay.” He gazed into the middle distance as if seeing his old life, his marriage. “Kay and I were never a good match, though neither of us knew that at first. There was some heat in the beginning, as there usually is, and then...there wasn’t. We argued a lot. She had a big spending problem, a need for some kind of anger management. Not that our issues were one-sided. I had my share.”
“You don’t have to say any more, Jeff.” The more she learned about him, the more she risked liking him. The more she risked having to reveal herself. Because then he wouldn’t let the relationship be one-sided for them, either.