Belonging

by Samantha James

  Angie took a deep breath and forced her mind back to the present. "Marilyn Winters, right?"

  He nodded, his eyes focused sharply on her face for a second. "We'll pick you up after the game," he said, then turned to the girls. "Say goodbye to your mom, kids."

  Summoning a smile that was as much for her own benefit as that of Matt and the girls, she leaned back for hugs and kisses. Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk and closed the door. Kim and Casey turned around and waved as the car moved away from the curb. Angie stared after it for a long moment before she finally squared her shoulders and headed toward the doorway.

  Inside, a tall woman with a cap of jet-black curls was seated behind a desk. Angie placed her age at somewhere near her own. "Hi, there. Can I help you?" the woman asked in greeting.

  She glanced around the sparsely furnished room before her gaze returned to the woman. A tentative smile creased her mouth. "I'm Angie Hall," she began. "I'm here to see Marilyn—"

  She got no further. The woman had already rounded the desk and clasped her hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Marilyn, and you must be the mayor of Westridge." Sparkling dark eyes looked her up and down. "You're not exactly what I expected."

  She suspected this woman had a talent for making one feel warm and welcome, and, as Marilyn led her through the shelter, she soon discovered she was right.

  The first floor consisted mainly of a small reception area, which doubled as an office, a supply area, a small kitchen, a living room and a counseling area. The upstairs had been turned into bedrooms.

  Angie shivered in spite of the day's warmth when they returned downstairs. The center was sparsely furnished with only the bare essentials. Only the fact that the worn furniture looked comfortable kept the atmosphere from being downright Spartan. Even the box of toys in the corner of the living room looked as if it had seen better days.

  "Not the best home away from home, is it?" Marilyn sounded grim as she watched Angie scan the room. She handed her a cup of coffee, then sat down behind the desk again. "Most of what we have here has been donated. We do what we can, though, and hope it's enough."

  Angie curled her fingers around the cup, absorbing some of the warmth from the hot liquid. "How long have you been in operation?"

  "Three years now." Marilyn grimaced. "Give or take a few months that we shut down because of lack of funds."

  "Most of your staff are volunteers?"

  Marilyn nodded. "A lot of our budget goes for paying the psychologist who consults with the counselors. Some of the rape and abuse cases we've had have been pretty traumatic, and sessions have lasted for months." She shook her head. "Like I said, it's not much, but it beats having nowhere else to go."

  Something in her quiet tone brought Angie's eyes to hers in a flash. The other woman's face reflected a great deal of compassion and silent understanding. A disquieting thought sped through Angie's mind—if Marilyn knew, did Matt? The finger that traced a path around the cracked edge of the cup wasn't entirely steady.

  "I didn't realize it was that obvious," she said in a low voice.

  "It isn't." Marilyn paused. "Except maybe to someone who's been through it."

  Angie stared at her. Marilyn Winters seemed so vibrant, so alive. For a moment she had trouble reconciling the woman before her with a woman who had been battered and bruised. There was a frown on her face as her gaze dropped to the shining gold band on Marilyn's left hand.

  Marilyn smiled when she saw the direction of Angie's eyes. "Put there by a man who cared enough to see me through some bad times." The smile broadened. "A very persistent man!"

  Persistent. Matt's dark face immediately swam before her, and her lips twitched unwillingly. "Is there any other kind?" she murmured dryly.

  They both laughed, and Angie felt some of her tension ease. Marilyn's expression grew more serious, though, when she rose and came around to perch a slender hip against the side of the desk. "I always tell the women who pass through here that the important thing to remember is you're not alone." The words were accompanied by a gentle squeeze of Angie's shoulder. "And no one should be afraid to ask for help."

  Angie's tentative smile froze at the sound of the door opening. A policeman came inside, followed by a young woman who held a baby in her arms. Fear stood out starkly on her face; a nasty-looking bruise darkened her cheekbone. Angie closed her eyes. A frigid cold seemed to permeate every part of her body.

  She heard the words "family fight" pass between Marilyn and the officer. Then he turned to the woman he'd introduced as Bonnie. "You'll be able to stay here until your husband calms down," he reassured her. Angie didn't hear the rest of the low-voiced conversation.

  It wasn't until the door closed behind him that she saw the child standing behind his mother's legs, clutching a blanket and a bedraggled stuffed animal. She realized he was no older than Casey. She nearly cried out as his uncertain gaze trickled around the room before finally coming to rest on her.

  She was on her knees in front of him before she even realized it. "It's okay," she whispered past the lump in her throat. Her smile was tremulous. "Everything will be okay, you'll see." She opened her arms, and the little boy walked into them without a word.

  Marilyn was right, she thought after the trio had been settled into a bedroom. It was good that the shelter was here for women like Bonnie.

  But no woman should have to go through such hell in the first place.

  ***

  The clear day had vanished with the onset of night. The star-studded sky of the past few weeks was hidden behind a curtain of dense gray clouds. As Angie stared straight ahead, a lone silver streak of lightning zigzagged across the sky.

  There was a definite threat of rain in the air by the time Matt pulled into her driveway at nine that evening. An hour earlier Casey had crawled onto Angie's lap and had proceeded to fall fast asleep. Her head sagged limply against Angie's breast, and one small hand lay curled on her shoulder.

  Glancing back, she saw that Kim had sprawled out on the back seat as much as she could wearing a seat belt. Neither one roused when the car rolled to a halt.

  Matt's smile encompassed both sleeping children. "Too much excitement," he said. "I'll give you a hand getting them inside." Strong arms reached for Kim, and he followed her into the house.

  "Upstairs," she whispered, juggling Casey against her shoulder. A floorboard creaked as she headed toward the stairs.

  A low chuckle sounded behind her. "We've been through this before. Remember?"

  How could she forget the Saturday he'd gone with them to Kim's game? Angie flushed, but the feeling of resentment she'd felt that night when the two of them had executed this same ritual was absent tonight. In fact, she was rather glad of his help.

  Kim opened her eyes just as Angie was about to leave the room. "Mommy?" she whispered.

  Angie sat on the edge of the bed. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she asked, "Did you have a good time today?"

  Kim nodded and smiled, a wide smile that Angie had seen all too little the past few years. "The umpires were all dressed the same, and they wore funny little hats." She giggled. "When they came out on the field, Casey asked Matt why all the priests were there."

  Angie's laughter joined her daughter's, though Matt had already told her of the incident. Pushing the soft brown curls off Kim's forehead, she paused. "Do you like Matt, Kim?"

  "I didn't think I would at first." Kim hesitated, then smiled. "But I do now. He's really nice."

  "And of course the fact that he gave you an autographed baseball doesn't have a thing to do with it." Angie's eyes were twinkling as she gazed down at her daughter.

  "Well—" Kim bit her lip, her eyes sparkling impishly "—that was when I decided he was okay after all." She added rather shyly, "He told me he'd help me work on my batting and my pitching. Then maybe next year I can pitch instead of play second base." She stopped and looked up pleadingly at Angie. "Is it all right, Mommy? If Matt helps me?"

  Even if she'd wanted to, Angie
couldn't have refused. "Of course it is, sweetie." As she spoke, she felt a curious tightening in her chest. It was at times like this that she prayed the lack of a father figure in the girls' lives didn't affect them adversely, either now or when they were older.

  Keeping Evan's memory alive in the minds of his two daughters hadn't been easy for Angie. Regardless of her own feelings about Evan, she felt it wouldn't have been fair to Kim and Casey to shut him out of their lives completely.

  "You miss your father, don't you, hon?" The words came with difficulty, though she tried not to show it. It was always that way when she spoke of Evan to the children.

  The spark immediately faded from Kim's eyes. Angie felt as if her heart were being torn in two as the seconds marched silently by. Finally Kim turned over on her side and tucked a hand beneath her cheek. "I think I'd like to go to sleep now," she whispered in a small voice.

  Angie sighed, seized by a feeling of inadequacy. "Sure, baby," she murmured. "Sure." She kissed her good-night, then went downstairs, her heart weighing heavily in her chest.

  She found Matt in the kitchen, and he handed her a steaming mug of coffee.

  "Thanks," she murmured gratefully, sinking down onto the nearest chair. She felt tired, but she knew it was because the day had drained her emotionally.

  Matt sat down next to her, studying her as he raised his cup to his lips. Her deep blue eyes were shadowed, and though her complexion looked as fresh and dewy as it had this morning, he thought she seemed a little pale.

  "You okay?" he asked gently.

  "I'm fine."

  The smile she flashed was bright, a little too bright, he thought. "You didn't eat much when we stopped for dinner," he pointed out, then smiled crookedly. "And you can't plead too many hot dogs and peanuts like the girls and me."

  Angie was silent. The memory of Bonnie still fresh in her mind, she had been too shaken to eat. Even now, hours later, the idea of food held little appeal.

  "I'm sorry," she said feebly, not knowing what else to say. A part of her wanted to tell him what had happened, and yet the woman's bruised face, two small children—-it simply struck too close to home.

  She could feel his probing gaze on her face. She saw him frown, and aware that some of her feelings must have shown in her expression, she jumped up. "Spooky," she muttered. "I'd better let her inside. She wasn't in the yard when we left this morning and she's probably starving."

  She flipped on the back porch light and stepped outside to call the cat. Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the night's coolness, she happened to glance back at the door just as Matt was coming through. It was then that she saw something twisted around the door handle, the faintest sparkle in the darkness. An eerie chillness inched up her spine.

  Puzzled at the odd expression on her face, Matt followed the direction of her eyes. They both realized what it was at the same time. Spooky's collar.

  ***

  Angie moved closer, watching as Matt struggled to free the collar from the door. It had been twisted and knotted over and over again—the work of a human hand. When at last it was free, Angie stared down at the mangled bit of leather and rhinestone that lay in Matt's hand.

  His eyes met hers. "Someone," he said very quietly, "took this collar from Spooky and deliberately—"

  "No," she muttered disbelievingly. "No!" She rushed from the patio and frantically began to call Spooky.

  "Angie!" Matt's voice was sharp as he pulled her around to face him. "You won't find her—"

  She refused to let him finish. "No!" She yanked her arm free of his grip, unwilling to let herself give in to a sickening feeling of dread. "She's around here somewhere," she cried. "She has to be! She's a house cat, Matt. The farthest she roams is the Crawford's. She's never outside much longer than an hour or so, especially when she's hungry, and she wouldn't have run away!"

  Her eyes were dark with anguish as she stared up at him through the moonlit darkness, and he sensed a kind of wild desperation in her. "I'll go have a look around and see if she's wandered off somewhere," he told her quickly, then followed it up with a firm order. "You go inside, sit down and relax. If Spooky is anywhere near here, I'll find her."

  But he didn't, and a muffled oath hovered on his lips when he saw Angie huddled on the top step half an hour later. She looked so forlorn, though, he just didn't have the heart to tell her the cat was probably dead.

  "You didn't find Spooky, did you?" She tried not to sound too glum, but when he shook his head, she couldn't stop her shoulders from slumping. "I suppose someone could have seen her and taken her in for the night," she murmured, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

  Matt placed a hand on her shoulder but didn't respond until he had guided her to the living room. She flopped down on the sofa and dropped her head back, too tired and bemused to notice Matt's preoccupied expression as he paced restlessly around the room.

  Finally he halted in front of the fireplace, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. "I don't think you'll find her, Angie," he said quietly. "Finding Spooky's collar like that... it wasn't a prank. You realize that, don't you?"

  She shook her head slightly, her lips pressed together. "Maybe someone saw her and decided to steal her. Maybe she wandered off and someone took her in for the night...."

  She was grasping at straws, and they both knew it. "This was deliberate," he countered bluntly. "To get at you somehow. Spooky might well be dead—-at the very least kidnapped—-and I don't think you'll ever get her back."

  "Come on, Matt," she started to protest. "I think you're reading too much into it."

  "Am I?" His voice was harsh. "First your tires were slashed. Then the vandalism in your yard, and now Spooky."

  "You mean you think the three are connected?" If she sounded rather skeptical, she couldn't help it.

  "Then who put the collar on the door?"

  She faltered at the demand in his voice. "I...I don't know." The thought of someone in her backyard again filled her with a feeling of unease. She bit her lip, not quite meeting his eyes. "Still, I wouldn't call it anything but a run of bad luck."

  "You can call it whatever you want," he told her grimly, "but what I'd like to know is why."

  "If you're right, it's because someone's decided I'm public enemy number one." The halfhearted attempt at humor fell miserably short. "Don't glare at me," she muttered in response to his withering look. His mouth only tightened further, and she retorted, "If I'm on someone's hit list, then it's up to you to find out, isn't it?"

  "Exactly," he said grimly.

  At that she straightened abruptly. "Matt!" she cried. "I was being sarcastic. You don't have to take this so seriously."

  "It's time someone did because you obviously aren't going to."

  His tone dared her to argue, and for a moment there was a standoff. Suddenly Angie's shoulders slumped. The hours at the shelter, Spooky disappearing...it was all too much.

  "Matt, please." She sighed wearily. "Can't this wait until some other time?" She tried to smile, but she found her mouth was trembling at the corners.

  She knew Matt had heard the curious catch in her voice. There was an unaccustomed ache in her throat as she watched his expression change from challenging to one of the utmost gentleness.

  She was beginning to fear that gentleness. Matt was a man who had known bitterness and loneliness, too. And still he was unafraid to show the soft side of his nature.

  "I'm sorry, Angie," he said quietly. She felt the cushions beside her give beneath his weight. "I didn't know Spooky meant that much to you."

  Again she tried to smile. The attempt was even more pitiful than before. She was so damn vulnerable, Matt thought to himself half angrily, and she was just as determined not to show it. But he capped the lid on the spurt of temper and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

  Every muscle in her body tightened against him, but deliberately he kept his hand where it was, spanning the width between her shoulder blades. He was tired of these
games, but at the same time he realized he didn't dare move too fast for her. Still, he couldn't help being a little hurt by her reaction.

  "Just relax." He spoke without realizing he did so. "I won't hurt you."

  Surprisingly, she did relax, almost as soon as his hand began a soothing motion with his fingertips, running lightly across the nape of her neck.

  "God, you're tense," he murmured with a frown. "Turn around, okay?"

  Reluctantly she complied. His left hand joined its mate at the base of her neck, and his thumbs began to slowly ease the tension from her muscles.

  "It's not only Spooky bothering you, is it?"

  Perhaps it was his quiet voice, the kneading motion of his fingers that made her feel oddly secure. Or perhaps it was the fact that there was nothing sexual in his touch, only a desire to ease her pain. Had Evan ever exhibited such tender concern? she wondered poignantly.

  Whatever the reason, she found herself responding. "No," she admitted. "It's not just Spooky, although the girls will be heartbroken if we don't find her."

  The gentle assault on her muscles stopped for a moment, then resumed. "It's the shelter, then, isn't it?" It was more a statement than a question.

  Again she grew rigid beneath his hands, and he thought she would draw away. Then he felt her take a deep breath and he sensed the sudden turmoil inside her.

  "It was awful, Matt." Her voice, no more than a whisper, held a depth of emotion he'd never heard before. "Awful," she repeated again, then shuddered.

  Strong arms immediately closed around her from behind. For once Angie didn't question the move as her back connected with the solid strength of a warm male body. Held tightly against Matt's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, his heartbeat echoing steadily beneath her shoulder, she only knew that she felt safe and warm and sheltered. And surely it wouldn't hurt to lean on someone else's shoulder. . .just for a while.