by Lisa Childs
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I’ve already left Tommy at the Johnsons’ too long. I don’t want to interfere with any of their plans for the evening.”
“I haven’t asked you to stay,” he pointed out, though he was tempted to do just that. He wanted to talk to her, but while the antihistamines had reduced the swelling, his lids were heavy with drowsiness, which was probably why Dr. Malewitz had insisted on Jessie driving him home. With his senses muddled, it was safer for him if she wasn’t around because he might forget everything but how beautiful she was.
Especially now as color flushed her face, darkening her pale skin to nearly the same shade as those sparse freckles on her nose. “I know you haven’t,” she said. “But I don’t think you should be left alone.”
He snorted at the notion; since the divorce, that was all he knew. Hell, even before the divorce he’d been alone, except for Matthew, because he and Robyn had been so busy with their separate lives and goals. “I’m used to it. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to be all by yourself,” she said.
Maybe it was the antihistamines, but an impulse to tease her overcame him. He leaned across the console, suppressing a grin as her eyes widened in surprise at his nearness. Then he lowered his voice and murmured, “I thought you had to go home…”
She nodded then jerked back when her face nearly touched his. “I—I do. I—I wasn’t talking about me.”
He might have intended to tease her, but with her lips so close to his, he was the one fighting to breathe now. And he suspected it had nothing to do with the allergy attack. He leaned away from her.
“Mrs. Wilson,” Jessie said, blurting the name out with a breath she’d apparently been holding. “She’s the one who offered to come back and sit with you.”
The nurse had taken the older woman home to check on the cat Chance had found caught in the tractor in the barn. He glanced down at the deep scratches on his forearm and winced as he remembered how deeply the feline’s claws had sunk into his skin when he’d tried working it free of the rusty tractor frame.
“That was nice of her to offer,” he said, especially as he suspected the brusque old woman preferred her cats to humans. And because she did, her hair-covered clothes would set back his recovery. “But unnecessary.” He pushed open the door and had to use the frame to lever himself from the seat. Fighting for breath had sapped his strength. “I’ll send one of the deputies over to your place to collect the car in a little while.”
“I’ll leave it and walk,” she said, turning off the ignition. “It’s not far.”
He’d noticed the night before that his house was only a couple of blocks from the little Craftsman bungalow she and Tommy called home. This place, despite his fond memories of childhood summers spent at his grandmother’s, was still just a house. It wouldn’t be a home until his son was able to move in with him.
He shifted his focus back to the woman now standing on her side of the sedan. “But how will Tommy know how cool you are unless he sees you driving the car?”
A smile curved her lips again. “Forest Glen is a small town. He’ll find out.”
Chance had only spent a couple of weeks here each of those long ago summers, and he’d loved the sense of freedom and security in the quiet country. The rest of his life he’d lived in Chicago—except for the two tours he’d spent in war zones. Hell, before he’d been deployed his marriage had become a war zone.
“You’re saying everyone knows everyone else’s business?” he asked, wondering how long Eleanor would keep his secret.
She must have misunderstood his question because her voice cracked with anger as she warned him, “Don’t you dare ask around about me…about Tommy’s father.” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She slammed the driver’s side door. “You can’t. You have no legal right to pry into my life.”
Maybe all his years on the Chicago force had made him cynical, or his divorce had left him so bitter that he wanted to believe she was doing something wrong. But he had no evidence of a crime, so no reason to investigate her.
“I won’t,” he assured her. He wouldn’t ask around; he wouldn’t make her the topic of speculation and gossip because that wouldn’t just affect her. It would affect her son, too.
“You wouldn’t learn anything if you did,” she said, as if she didn’t trust him to keep his word. “No one knows my business but me.”
He grinned at her naiveté. “I can’t imagine anyone who’s grown up in a small town can keep anything about her life secret.”
“I didn’t grow up here.” She shrugged. “Well, in a way I did. But I wasn’t born here. I moved here after I was already pregnant with Tommy. So no one knows…”
“Father unknown,” he murmured.
She gasped. “You looked at his birth certificate!”
Regret increased the pounding in his head. Even as he’d pulled up the record, he’d known he was overstepping. And he knew why. He could have shared his own situation with Jessie, but like her, he didn’t want everybody discovering his secrets. “Why don’t you want anyone to find out who Tommy’s father is?” If the man was a threat, Chance had to know. It was his job to protect her and Tommy. “Is he dangerous?”
She shook her head, anger flashing in her eyes. “You’re the one who’s dangerous. You’re disrupting my life. Digging into my private records, making promises to my son…” Her eyes glistened now with tears.
Chance swallowed a groan of regret. She was right. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry!” she yelled at him. “You had no right!” Then she turned away and stomped off down his driveway.
Even though breathing was still an effort, he could have chased after her. But he’d already apologized. If he’d caught her, he might have done something stupid—something like he’d been tempted to do in the car when he’d leaned so close to her that their mouths had nearly touched.
Staring after Jessie Phillips, he had to remind himself that the only relationship he was interested in was with his son. After his disastrous divorce, he could never trust any woman again, and especially not one whose behaviour reminded him so much of his ex. Jessie Phillips would not tempt him again.
Chapter Four
What must he think of her? Did he actually believe she didn’t know who had fathered Tommy? That she’d slept around so much she’d had no idea?
Heat rushed to her face, and she fanned herself with her hand as she kicked off her tangled blankets. She’d like to blame her temperature on the unusually warm spring weather rather than embarrassment. That would imply she cared what Sheriff Chance Drayton thought of her. And she didn’t.
She didn’t care what anyone thought but Tommy. And he’d totally dropped the subject of his father, not asking her one question in the week since he’d filed his missing person report with the sheriff. He was over it—for now. Why couldn’t she let it go?
It was Saturday, and she should have been snuggled under the blankets sleeping in. But instead, she’d tossed and turned since dawn. Early morning sunlight streamed through her blinds, but she closed her eyes again. The house was quiet. Maybe she could catch some sleep now.
But just then a crash reverberated throughout the house. She jumped from her bed and ran down the hall to Tommy’s room. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Since he didn’t have bunk beds, the noise wouldn’t have been so loud if he had fallen out of bed. The times it had happened before, his small body tumbling onto the floor had resulted in a dull thud and a murmured oath from him. Her hand trembling, she flipped on the light, which glinted off ceramic shards on the hardwood floor.
Tommy sat cross-legged next to the remains of his broken piggy bank, a hammer against his knee. “That was loud, huh?” he remarked, his light blue eyes bright with excitement.
“Uh, yeah,” Jessie replied. “What are you doing? Why’d you break open piggy?”
“I need to buy another baseball mitt,” he said as he unfolded crumpled bills and st
acked coins. “Can you take me to Smith’s Sporting Goods?”
“It doesn’t open for a few hours yet,” she pointed out. “And I doubt you need another glove already.” He wasn’t growing that fast, not fast enough to have outgrown the one she’d bought him two Christmases ago.
“But I gotta have two.”
“Why?” she asked.
He lowered his gaze to the pile of coins. “I just do…” His mouth tightened into that little stubborn line she knew so well. Asking him any other questions would be pointless.
“After breakfast,” she said, “we’ll go into town and check out the sales at Smith’s.” If she could afford it, she tried to give Tommy what he asked for, especially since he usually asked for so little. Except the one thing she couldn’t risk giving him…
“DO I NEED TO COME to Chicago?” Chance asked as he paced the sidewalk outside the storefronts on Main Street.
“We don’t have a hearing with the judge yet,” Trenton Sanders replied. “All the meetings have been between your ex’s lawyer, me and the mediator.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Chance said. “Maybe I just need to talk to Robyn myself.”
“She refuses to talk to you or let you speak with the boy anymore,” the lawyer reminded him, his voice rough with the same impatience that tore Chance up inside.
When he’d filed for full custody, Robyn had cut off all communication between him and Matthew. At least when he was in Afghanistan, he’d been able to talk to his son through letters and e-mails when he’d had Internet access.
“She’s being unreasonable.” He never would have believed the smart, funny woman he’d married so many years ago could be so bitter and spiteful. Especially when he’d done nothing to deserve her anger. Like he’d promised his son, he’d come home from Afghanistan without a scratch. He glanced down at the ridges of healing skin on his arm. All those years as a police officer and then a detective in Chicago, he’d never been hurt, either. Until a damn cat took him out in sleepy Forest Glen.
“The mediator has told her lawyer that she’s being unreasonable and that’s what she’ll report to the judge. Then we’ll get a custody hearing scheduled, and you’ll need to come to Chicago for that.”
Chance expelled a ragged sigh of relief. “Good. When will all this happen?”
A sigh rattled through the phone, echoing his. “Her lawyer asked for the chance to confer with her client and then meet with the mediator one last time before it’s turned over to the judge.”
“It’s just another delaying tactic,” Chance argued. “Robyn and her lawyer have been dragging this out for months now—months I’m losing of my son’s life.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Really?” he challenged Trenton. He couldn’t unleash his temper on the person he was actually angry with, since she refused to talk to him. “All these delays are adding hours to my bill. Hell, I should go. Every minute I talk to you is costing me.”
“Damn it, Chance, that’s not fair, and you know it,” his former platoon sergeant and long-time friend reminded him. “Hell, I don’t even want to bill you. You’re the one insisting on paying me.”
“Yeah,” Chance said, glancing into the window of the store as he paced in front of it. His attention was drawn to the bright red hair of the only two customers. “I don’t want to owe you.”
“Hey, I’m the one who owes you, and I’ll never be able to pay you back.”
“Try,” he urged his friend. “Get my son back for me, and we’ll be even.” He clicked off the cell phone without another word, just as Jessie Phillips lifted her head and met his gaze through the store window. He’d rather not have to deal with her right now, not when he was so mad at Robyn for doing the same thing to him that Jessie might be doing to Tommy’s dad.
But it was too late for him to escape. Tommy had already seen Chance and the little boy tugged free of his mom’s hand on his shoulder and rushed out the door. “Sheriff Drayton! Sheriff Drayton!”
“Hey, Tommy.”
The little boy grabbed Chance’s hand, wrapping both of his around it. “I need your help!”
Chance swallowed a groan. Damn. The kid hadn’t given up. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to find—”
“Sheriff!” Jessie called out his title now as she joined them on the sidewalk. Standing behind her son, she directed a pointed stare at Chance; her green-eyed gaze was very intense. Her hair was loose around her shoulders now, but made her look no older than the ponytail had. “That’s not what he wants help with.”
He released a shallow breath in relief. “Okay then. What do you need?”
Tommy tugged on Chance’s hand, pulling him toward the open door of the sporting goods store. “I need your ’pinion.”
“I’m sure the sheriff is very busy, Tommy,” Jessie said, easing her son away from Chance. “He doesn’t have time to go shopping with us.”
Something shifted in his chest at the image Jessie’s words conjured in his mind: a happy family hanging out together. He’d always hated shopping, though, and so had Matthew. They would have rather been out playing sports than buying the equipment for them.
“He’s just standing out here,” Tommy pointed out. “He’s not doing anything.”
“He’s the sheriff,” Jessie reminded her son. “He’s always working.” She glanced to the cell phone he clutched in his palm. Maybe she’d seen him on it, arguing with his lawyer.
She’d been inside the store, so she wouldn’t have been able to overhear any of his conversation, which was good. Since she wouldn’t share her secrets, he wouldn’t be thrilled if she learned his, especially since she would realize why he might not be entirely objective about Tommy being denied a relationship with his dad.
“Actually I was just having lunch with the mayor and had to step out to take a call,” he said. “I should probably rejoin him.” But when he glanced back toward the diner two buildings down, the mayor was walking out with a couple of old cronies. Mayor Applegate lifted his hand in a wave at Chance, and then slid behind the wheel of his vintage pickup truck.
“That’s not going to work,” she murmured. With a slight nudge, she urged Tommy, “Go back inside and we’ll meet you there in a minute.”
“What’s not going to work?” Chance asked, wary of being left alone with her. Even though he didn’t agree with or understand the woman, she fascinated him.
“Your excuse to escape,” she replied with an unladylike snort of disgust. “It’s not going to work.”
“What makes you think I want to escape?”
“You don’t exactly look like you’re in the mood for shopping,” she said, her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “In fact, you look pretty mad right now.”
She couldn’t have overheard his conversation but she’d definitely picked up on his reaction to it.
“I’m fine with this,” Chance insisted. “I thought you were the one who might have a problem with my hanging out with Tommy.”
“You’re not hanging out with my son,” she said. “You’re going in there and giving your—”
“’Pinion?”
“Yes.” Her anger with him a few days ago was apparently forgotten now, and she smiled. “That’s all he wants.”
She wasn’t just lying to her son; she was probably lying to herself, too, if she actually believed that.
TOMMY STARED at the couple standing on the sidewalk outside the door. His mom looked pretty and really young, just like some of the girls on the bus when she smiled brightly like she was now. And the sheriff looked tall, and a little mean, with his eyes all serious and his jaw real hard-looking. But then he walked through the door and smiled at Tommy.
And Tommy’s stomach flipped with nerves and a rush of hope and maybe the flapjacks his mom had made him that morning. Too bad the sheriff wasn’t his dad. But if he was, he would have said something when Tommy told him who he was looking for.
Was he trying to find Tommy’s dad like he’d promised? Or ha
d Mom talked him out of it? Maybe that was why she’d wanted to get rid of Tommy and speak to the sheriff alone.
He rushed forward and grabbed the man’s big hand, pulling him toward the baseball stuff in the middle of the cluttered sporting goods store. His mom would have had a fit if he’d kept his room as messy as the store was. Stuff overflowed crates and was falling off the shelves. With his free hand, Tommy grabbed a glove and held it out to the sheriff. “See if it fits.”
Sheriff Drayton pulled his hand away from Tommy’s and slid it into the glove. “It’s a little snug for me,” he said. “Probably would be big for you, though.”
“He already has a glove,” his mom said. “I’m not sure why he thinks he needs another one. But then I know nothing about baseball, at least not enough to give him the ’pinion he wants about the glove.”
“I was the catcher on my high school team, and we were undefeated,” Sheriff Drayton said with a grin. “But that seems like a long time ago now.”
“Catcher,” Tommy said. That dream he’d been having about playing catch with his dad became a little clearer than it usually was. Instead of throwing a ball at a shadow, the guy had a face. It was Chance Drayton’s.
The sheriff picked up another glove from the table and slid his hand into the leather. Then he scooped up a ball and chucked it hard—like so hard it would have stung Tommy’s hand—into the glove. “This one feels good.”