Protected (Jacobs Family Series Book 2)

by Vannetta Chapman

  Wanted to step closer.

  Longed to look into his eyes.

  And so they’d danced around each other all night. She could no more deny the effect she had on him than she could reject the way her own heart fluttered when he was in the room.

  Now to deal with his proposal.

  She would laugh at the word if it didn’t wring her heart with its irony.

  When Travis stepped back into the room, one look at his face told her they had new problems.

  “That was Methodist DeBakey Hospital—Mrs. DeLoach passed away earlier this evening.”

  Erin stood and hugged her arms around her middle.

  “Sit down, sweetheart. You’ve lost all your color.”

  “No, I’m fine.” She heard herself speak as if from some faraway place.

  “I’m going to get you some water. Sit here until I come back.”

  The glass was cold in her hands. The water soothing on her throat. “It seems odd not to cry,” she murmured.

  “You’ve been through a lot recently, Erin.”

  “She was such a sweet old thing.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Josh and I visited her—a few days after you and I went.”

  Travis stared at her in surprise, but didn’t interrupt.

  “She told me then she was ready—ready to go.” Erin drank more of the water. “She missed Mr. DeLoach and her daughter and Tara.”

  “I received two calls. One was the hospital, telling me of Mrs. DeLoach’s passing. The other was from Mrs. DeLoach’s lawyer.”

  Erin tucked her hair behind her ear, leaned forward, and placed the glass of water on the table. “I don’t understand.”

  “There will not be a memorial, since there is no surviving family—except for Joshua.”

  Erin felt her face freeze at the words.

  “I was going to tell you, and then with everything else… Well, I did receive the genetic testing results today. It’s official—she was Joshua’s great-grandmother. The lawyer has asked for you, Joshua, and a representative from Child Welfare to be present for a meeting. As soon as we can set it up.”

  Erin felt her pulse thundering in her ears. She stared at Travis’s face, trying to read something there beyond his words, but he didn’t seem to be holding anything back.

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Did she instruct her lawyers to fight Joshua’s placement?”

  “I honestly don’t know. They didn’t give me any details.”

  “Okay. All right.” She didn’t realize she was clenching her hand into a fist until Travis leaned forward, pulled her hand into his lap, and gently pried open her hand and massaged the palm.

  “Faith,” he whispered.

  Erin nodded, because she knew it was expected, but suddenly, she felt very lost again. Just when she thought she’d found some measure of peace, a bit of direction, another lightning bolt came out of the clear blue sky.

  After saying good-bye and walking Travis to the door, she stared out into the darkness and tried to believe everything would work out for Joshua’s good. She even threw up a short prayer. The darkness gave nothing back though, so she turned and walked into her home.

  Thirty-Two

  Derrick Pitcher stared at the newspaper clippings spread across the motel coffee table and struggled to ignore the hangover pounding at the back of his head. He gulped more coffee.

  He was not a stupid man, and his instincts told him the stories in front of him could be turned to his advantage.

  If his head would clear.

  He slowed his pulse, forced his mind away from the money, and considered each article individually.

  He’d at least found the cognitive brilliance to lay them out in chronological order. He never would have known the old biddy had died if his buddy at the bar hadn’t slapped him on the back and declared, “You’re buying, Derrick. The witch is dead.”

  Through the haze of a very nice buzz, he’d looked over the bar top to see the face of his ex-wife’s grandmother splayed across the television set. That might not have sobered him, but the net value of her estate certainly did—in excess of 120 million dollars.

  Asking the barkeep for a glass of water and moving closer to the television, he’d caught the picture of a woman and a baby as the piece ended. An hour later the spot replayed. By then he’d been closer to sober—close enough to realize the baby was his son, or so Tara had claimed.

  At eight the next morning he’d arrived on the doorsteps of the Houston Public Library. The fiftyish woman had been more than eager to show him how to use the computer and printer. Now he stared down at three… count them three… news articles that could and would change his life.

  Article one was dated several weeks earlier and published in a tiny paper called The Livingston Daily:

  Local animal rescuer finds baby. Erin Jacobs has been surprised time and again while serving the residents of Livingston, Texas, but she’s never been as shocked as she was the night she looked down into a washtub and found a two-month-old baby named Joshua. While Ms. Jacobs declined to comment until after adoption procedures are final, she has petitioned Judge Boultinghouse for permanent custody of the child. Caseworker Travis Williams will be overseeing the baby’s placement.

  Pitcher stared at the picture of the woman. She was a looker all right. As far as the kid, he certainly bore no resemblance to him. Knowing Tara, she’d gone to one of those fertility banks when he’d said he didn’t want children. If that was the case, no one had to know.

  Article two was dated several days later:

  Philanthropist’s daughter declared dead. Authorities have called off a search for Tara DeLoach, the granddaughter of philanthropist and Austin resident, Dorothy DeLoach. According to authorities, Tara DeLoach was traveling aboard a forty-foot yacht with former husband, Derrick Pitcher, early Wednesday morning when she fell overboard. Pitcher immediately alerted authorities, but her body was never recovered. Detective Carmichael states the husband is not a suspect.

  Pitcher reached for his coffee, but his hand shook too badly to pick up the mug. Wiping his palms on his jeans, he stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the parking lot.

  It had been an accident.

  They’d argued. Tara had insisted he take her back. The next thing he knew she’d fallen overboard. He’d run for the life ring, but by the time he reached the side with it, she’d disappeared under the water.

  That was all he remembered, and he’d told the detective most of it. He hadn’t mentioned the argument, or that it was about money. Of course she’d refused him—again. Tara acted as if she owed him nothing, as if giving her five years of his life wasn’t worth something.

  They’d dredged for her body for three days, and when they’d asked about the baby, he’d said she’d put it up for adoption. Or so she’d told him. Seemed like a plausible answer at the time.

  The third and last article was dated yesterday. For this one, he needed coffee. Though his hands still shook, he reached for the mug, downed the now cold beverage, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he leaned forward and read carefully.

  Lawyers for philanthropist, Dorothy DeLoach, reveal contents of multi-million dollar will. Sources close to the estate have confirmed Mrs. DeLoach left virtually all of her estate—more than 120 million dollars—to her great-grandson, Joshua, who was found by animal rescuer, Erin Jacobs. Miss Jacobs found the child at a hunter’s cabin earlier this month. Not realizing he had any living family, Miss Jacobs had petitioned the court for legal and permanent custody. In a bizarre turn of events, the child’s mother was lost at sea shortly after he was found abandoned in the woods. The detective assigned to the case, Leon Carmichael, states no charges have been filed in Miss DeLoach’s death. At this point it is being ruled an accident. No other details regarding the will have been released, nor is there any information on whether the DeLoach estate will fight Miss Jacobs petition for the child.

 
Pritchett’s fingers started at the top and retraced the print through each line. Stopped when they reached the word great-grandson. Of course the money was being left to the kid. All he had to do was gain custody, which should be easy enough. He was married to Tara at the time she became pregnant. Wasn’t he?

  Sure, sure. He remembered clearly the lawyer the old lady had sent to his place. She was so eager for him to sign the papers—what were they called? Something relinquishing his parental rights. Anyway, a nice fat check had arrived with the courier. He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d never wanted kids anyway, and he’d told Tara as much.

  Well a man could change his mind, especially when he’d been bribed.

  With a 120 million dollars he could hire a nanny. He could probably hire the Jacobs woman if she was so attached to the kid.

  He stood and began throwing his few clothes into the one battered suitcase he owned.

  Livingston wasn’t far, but he needed to sell his yacht first. Lawyers weren’t cheap.

  Thirty-Three

  Erin walked into the children’s wing of the church and fought the urge to turn around and run back to her truck. A promise was a promise though. Travis had certainly been right when he’d said she wouldn’t like it.

  Surely, she could survive anything for a year.

  It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t see him.

  He’d stopped by with James yesterday to help her with the animals. She needed to talk to him about that. Somehow she had a feeling it was his way of spending time with her, which was cheating per the terms of their agreement.

  “So this is Joshua.” Mrs. Harrington beamed as Erin stopped at the half-door leading into the nursery. “I’ve heard about you, young man.”

  “And I told Josh all about you, Mrs. Harrington. Told him you took good care of me, and he’d be in great hands for the evening.”

  “You were an easy baby, Erin.” The elderly woman held out still strong arms and accepted Josh into them. She seemed timeless to Erin, as if she had reached some golden number and stopped aging. Her hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, exactly like Erin remembered. Blue eyes twinkled out of soft skin folded into a hundred layers. “I happen to have an open rocker, and Joshua looks sleepy.”

  “There’s an extra bottle in his bag if he needs it, but he ate before we came.”

  “Good deal. You all have fun. What is it tonight, putt-putt?”

  Erin rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the somersaults in her stomach. “I hope not. The last time I held any sort of putting club I was asked to relinquish it for the safety of those around me.”

  Why had she agreed with Shirley to attend the Friday night social? Shirley wouldn’t even be there since she was now five weeks away from her due day and already her feet were swelling. She claimed that by nightfall she didn’t want to do anything but prop them on the couch.

  Erin probably wouldn’t know a soul.

  “Erin?”

  Turning, she nearly fell over when she saw Mitzi and Elaine walk up to the door across the hall. The first woman was short and dark haired, the second was tall and blonde.

  Mitzi was holding the hand of a toddler.

  “I didn’t know you were back in town, Mitzi. I thought you were…” Her words trailed off as she swallowed her embarrassment.

  Mitzi and Elaine exchanged glances.

  “Go on in, honey.” Kissing her daughter with the same dark hair, she handed over a nursery bag covered in dancing vegetables.

  Walking over to Erin, Mitzi embraced her in a hug and murmured, “We can talk on the way out.”

  Once they were outside the church building, Mitzi looped her arm through Erin’s while Elaine went to collect a schedule of the night’s festivities from their group leader.

  “Antonio was killed in Iraq a year ago.”

  “I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard.” Erin paused then wrapped her arms around the woman she hadn’t seen since their high school graduation. “I was so surprised to see you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s all right. Molly knows, but I’m not sure how much she understands. I moved back to Livingston six months ago.”

  “Took a lot of coaxing from me and her parents.” Elaine returned with three pieces of paper. “We’re glad she’s home now. We can look out for her.”

  “I’m sorry about Jules and Nina.” Mitzi pulled her into a hug. “I tried to call a few times, but no one ever answered at the house.”

  “I haven’t been the most sociable person or I would have bought an answering machine.” Both Erin and Mitzi swiped at their tears while Elaine studied them with a smile.

  “How are you, Elaine?” Erin said.

  “I’m good. You look… better than the last time I saw you.”

  Erin squinted her eyes, trying to remember.

  “Three snakes? Long. Made a rattling sound.”

  Erin started laughing, the day coming back to her like a pile of photos dropped in her lap. “That’s right. I was covered in mud. I’d caught two of the diamondbacks—”

  “And one was still in the library foyer.”

  “Which I managed to track a good amount of dirt through.”

  “I didn’t care a bit as long as you took that reptile out of our building. Still gives me shivers every time I unlock in the morning.”

  Mitzi glanced from one to the other. “I love being home. Things are never dull around here like they were in El Paso.”

  Erin cinched her purse over her shoulder, suddenly glad she’d come for the evening.

  “If you two are finished playing catch-up, we can go show the rest of this group how to play some putt-putt.”

  Mitzi and Erin both groaned.

  “What else is on the agenda?” Mitzi asked.

  “Putt-putt, dinner at the Mexican food place, followed by laser tag and dessert at The Diner.”

  “Sounds like plans for a whole weekend. Why did I agree to this?” Erin sagged against the side of her truck.

  “Who tricked you into it?” Mitzi asked.

  “My caseworker.”

  Mitzi and Elaine exchanged looks. “They can do that?”

  “If you only knew.” Erin climbed into her truck. “All right, ladies, who’s leading this night of fun?”

  —

  The night turned out better than she had imagined and helped her forget the pressure of the news reporters and, of course, the money. She had blocked out all details of that meeting. It seemed as though it had happened to another person.

  There were another twelve adults at the putt-putt course when they arrived. Erin was still terrible with a putter, but who cared when giant dinosaurs loomed over you as you tried to hit the little ball up and down the slopes?

  She was hitting her fifth stroke on a par three when one of the men decided she could benefit from a little instruction.

  “Would you like some help?”

  “My score just passed a hundred. I’m beyond help.”

  “I’m Russ. Russell Lawson.” He was barely taller than her, with short dark hair and a muscular build, all topped with a warm smile and a deep tan.

  “Glad to meet you, Russ. I’m Erin.” They shook hands under the tyrannosaurus, and she stepped back toward her ball. She nodded at the group of preteens waiting impatiently behind her. “They’re betting this will take me three more swings.”

  “Ahh. My first suggestion would be to stop gripping your putter like a baseball bat.” He showed her the proper grip, which of course entailed putting his arms around her. Erin couldn’t help noticing his light aftershave and comparing it to Travis’s. Something in her heart yelped like a puppy being stepped on, but she firmly shut the door and focused on the ball.

  “Eye on the ball, line up the shot, and tap.”

  The ball rolled and went into the hole. Behind her were groans, and coins exchanged hands.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’m sorry I waited until the last hole.”

  As they walked toward th
e counter to turn in her putter, she learned he worked at a golf course in Huntsville and was also a physical trainer two days a week at the hospital in Livingston—both of which explained the biceps.

  “You’re a busy guy.”

  “I like it. I’d get antsy if I had to sit behind a desk. What do you do?”

  Mitzi and Elaine joined them as they walked to the parking lot.

  “She definitely does not sit behind a desk,” Elaine teased.

  “Unless there’s something in the desk that doesn’t belong there,” Mitzi added.

  Russ sent a confused look from one woman to the other. “I get it. This is like fifty questions.”

  Erin rolled her eyes, refusing to actually take part, but enjoying the fun everyone was having at her expense.

  By the time they reached the restaurant, Russ stepped out of his Jeep, met them at the door, and offered, “Detective.”

  Elaine and Mitzi laughed, then walked on through to the table where the rest of their group was already seated.

  “I’d be happy to tell you what I do for a living.”

  “No way.” Russ shook his head and managed to look offended. “I love a good puzzle. I didn’t really think you were a detective. She threw me with the desk thing. Do I get another clue?”

  He held out Erin’s chair as they sat down at the last two places.

  “Why are you getting clues, Russ?”

  Homer, a big bull of a man, ordered sweet tea, then leaned forward to hear what Russ was saying. Most of the people at the table were aware of Erin’s profession, but five had somehow managed to not need her services.

  Throughout the dinner—in between fajitas, tacos, chalupas and enchiladas—those who didn’t know would shout out questions that could only be answered with a yes or no.

  “Does it require a license?

  “Yes.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  A resounding “yes” circled the table, and Erin nearly choked on her taco salad.

  The conversation would fade back to the latest movie or who was building a new house, then someone would call out, “Have you been in the paper?”

  More “yes” answers crossed the table, followed by muffled laughter.