Finding You

by Maureen Child

  “Damn it!” She stubbed her toe against the doorjamb as she came around the corner and hopped the last few feet into the too-bright kitchen.

  “What kind of good morning is that?” Mama asked.

  “The only kind you should expect when you pop in at—” She shot a look at her wall duck. “Six-thirty?” Swinging her bleary gaze back toward her mother, Carla said, “Jesus, Mama. Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Coffee first,” her mother said wisely. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Coffee. Yes. Everything looked better when seen through a caffeinated filter. Wincing, Carla limped on her sore toe, took the steaming mug her mother handed her, and buried her nose in the scent of it. Small capillaries opened up. Blood rushed through arteries. Heartbeat quickened in anticipation. She took a swallow and damn near sighed. One thing you had to give Mama. She made a great cup of coffee.

  “You know,” Carla said, hobbling over to the closest chair, “this is almost orgasmic.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Whoa. Engage brain before speaking.

  “This is how you sleep?” her mother demanded, waving one hand at her daughter’s ensemble. “And if there’s a fire, this is all you’ll have to wear? What will the firemen think?”

  Carla looked down, blinked, focused, and shrugged. Nick had gotten her the football jersey—with his number on the chest—and the boxer shorts were comfortable. “If there’s a fire,” she promised solemnly, “I’ll remember to put on my prom dress before running for my life.”

  Mama sniffed. “Drink more coffee.”

  “Good idea.” Another blissful swallow and she almost felt strong enough to ask, “What in the hell are you doing here before the crack of dawn?”

  Her mother whisked a dish towel across the counter-top, then ran her finger across the same surface, checking to make sure every crumb had been obliterated. Naturally, it had.

  “I was up fixing dinner…”

  Carla opened her mouth, realized she hadn’t had near enough coffee to go there, and snapped it shut again.

  “And I saw you had company.”

  What? Pushing her hair back from her eyes, she stared at her mother and repeated, “Company?”

  “Outside.”

  Dutifully Carla pushed herself to her feet and, carrying the mug full of morning courage, wandered to the window and peered out. She smiled. Heck, how could you do anything else?

  Inside the puppy pen, Reese Wyatt sat in the dirt with six puppies crawling over her lap, climbing her chest, and tugging at the ends of her hair. Abbey, of course, was there, too, her head on Reese’s lap, patiently ignoring the clambering paws of her litter.

  It was a picture-perfect scene. The kind you saw on commercials airing around Christmastime. The first tentative rays of sunlight poked through the trees and dropped dappled shade. A happy kid. Cute puppies. Faithful dog. Carla half-expected a swell of music to rise up out of nowhere as an anonymous announcer urged people to “phone home for the holidays.”

  But this was real life, not TV. And in real life that happy kid had a usually cranky father who would, no doubt, be bursting onto the tranquil scene at any moment, ready to drag said kid away. Just then, a flicker of movement at the corner of her eye drew Carla’s attention.

  Jackson Wyatt was already here. Standing in the shadowy overhang of the eaves, watching his daughter among the dogs she so clearly loved. Carla’s heart ached just a little as she studied his expression—a mixture of pleasure and pain. What was he thinking? Feeling?

  Even through the closed door, Carla heard the puppies’ excited yips and barks, but over and above all that was another sound. One she hadn’t heard before. The little girl was actually laughing, the sound rising up and up like soap bubbles drifting free in the air. But Carla didn’t look at the child. Instead, her gaze locked on the unshed tears glimmering in Jackson Wyatt’s eyes as he listened to his little girl’s laughter, and Carla’s throat tightened.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT HAD BEEN SO long, Jackson thought as the sound of Reese’s unrestrained giggles washed over him. Like a soothing balm, that laughter eased his tortured heart and gave him the first real hope he’d known in almost a year. If she could laugh, she could talk. If she could talk, she could come all the way back to him.

  He blinked back the moisture in his eyes, clearing the image in front of him. He wanted always to remember this moment. This picture of Reese, with small white fur-ball puppies clambering all over her as she took her first hesitant step out of the shadows.

  Shrinks be damned.

  It was just as he’d thought. Hoped. Reese would come back when she was ready to come back and not before. All the doctors in the world wouldn’t change that. Couldn’t change it. What she needed was her father.

  And, apparently, puppies.

  To his left, the back door opened and he frowned to himself, resenting the intrusion. Which was nuts, since he was standing in someone else’s backyard. He was the intruder here. Well, he and Reese. Though he couldn’t be sorry about it, now. When he’d first realized his daughter was gone from the house, instant irritation and fear had swept him. He didn’t want his daughter running off to Carla’s house every chance she got, and he’d been damn sure that’s just where she’d gone. After all, the pull of puppies wasn’t something that any kid could ignore.

  But to get to this house, she had to cross a street that, all right, wasn’t exactly the Indianapolis 500, but the occasional driver zoomed down that road. And a short six-year-old wasn’t going to be easy to spot when you were doing fifty.

  Even as he thought it, though, he admitted silently that wasn’t the whole reason he resented Reese coming here. She was probably safe enough crossing the street—especially at the crack of dawn. But her coming here ensured that he’d have to come after her. Which meant seeing the woman who lived here. The more time he spent with Carla, the more he enjoyed it, and damn it, he couldn’t afford to enjoy a woman at the moment. In any way.

  Yet here he stood, in Carla’s yard, with a soft morning breeze rippling through his hair and his daughter’s laughter singing to him. So how in the hell could he be angry about any of it?

  “Good morning!”

  An older version of Carla poked her head out the opened door. Graying black hair framed a round face with snapping brown eyes and a wide smile. She stepped out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a pristine apron tied around her middle. “So, you want some coffee?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Coffee,” she repeated, a little louder this time, as if he were deaf and she was determined to make him understand. “My Carla, she’s having some now. Best not to talk to her until she’s finished, so you can talk to me.”

  Words. Coming too fast to be understood this early in the morning. Besides, if he went inside, he’d only be dragged deeper into the Candellano family. Best to escape now. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I think Reese and I—”

  “What?” She slapped her hands on her hips. “You have somewhere else to be before the sun comes up?” Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “You’re a vampire, maybe? I read about vampires and—”

  “What?”

  “Jesus, Mama.” Carla’s voice, blurred, indistinct, came from inside the kitchen. “Stop reading already.”

  “I’m kidding.” She turned and glanced briefly toward her daughter. “Only you can make jokes?”

  “Oh, Mama, it’s way too early for this.”

  Jackson agreed. He hadn’t planned on running into anyone at this hour. He’d hoped to just pick up Reese and get back home before anyone knew they’d been there. Best-laid plans. “We’ll just be going.…”

  The older woman ignored that completely. “You come in. You’ll have coffee. You’ll talk.”

  Not an easy woman to argue with. At least he knew now where her daughter came by her bulldozer personality. “Reese—”

  “Is fine,” the woman interrupted with a fond look at the child across the yard.
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br />   Reese might be fine, but she was silent again, now that she knew she had an audience. Already she was pushing herself to her feet and ignoring the jumping puppies. Abbey, though, was not to be ignored. The big dog simply pushed her head beneath Reese’s hand until she got the stroking and petting she so obviously wanted.

  Disappointment swelled inside him. His heart twisted and that old familiar ache shimmered through his body. For one all too brief moment, his little girl had shone brightly again. Now that moment was gone and the silence was back.

  “Come inside,” the woman on the porch insisted, kindness rimming her voice as if she knew exactly what he was feeling. “We’re all wide awake.” She tossed a cautious look back into the house and amended that statement slightly. “Most of us, anyway.” She shrugged. “My daughter, we give her more coffee, she’ll be all right.”

  As if responding to a cue, Carla stepped out onto the porch beside her mother. Clutching a cup of coffee in both hands, she squinted at him, and even at a distance Jackson felt the tug of her gaze. Not many women could pull off a football jersey and a pair of boxer shorts. But damned if she didn’t make the outfit look good.

  Which only served to remind him exactly why he shouldn’t be here.

  “Hi.” Her voice sounded gravelly with sleep.

  “Sorry about this,” he said. “Reese got out on her own again.”

  “Cell block D needs better guards.”

  He stiffened. Apparently, she really wasn’t a morning person. Fine. Just as well. He didn’t need a friend. He didn’t need a woman. Hell, he didn’t need any of this.

  “Come in for some breakfast,” the older woman urged.

  Carla rolled her eyes.

  “Thanks, but we’d better go.”

  Her mother gave her a not too subtle nudge in the ribs and Carla winced. “Have some coffee,” she said, and considered that more than gracious. Heck, she was offering to share her morning potion. What could be friendlier?

  “I’ve got some at the house.”

  “Who doesn’t?” she countered. “Mine’s closer.”

  He looked from her to the girl, still standing in the puppy pen, and back again. Indecision warred on his features and sympathy welled up inside Carla until it nearly choked her. Remembering the look on his face as he’d watched his daughter’s laughter opened her heart to him, and that wasn’t something she’d counted on. Lust was one thing. Caring quite another. But the poor man had already had plenty of emotional turmoil this morning. Now he was being asked to face down Mama Candellano before 7:00 A.M. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for him?

  “You come,” Mama piped up. “Have coffee. Ignore my daughter’s foul temper—which she got from me, because, God rest him, her papa never got angry; he only got quiet—not like the rest of us, Carla’s three brothers included, well, except for Paul; he’s like his papa with his quiet all the time.”

  Carla blinked, shook her head, and stared at him. “Can she cram a load of words into one sentence or what?”

  “Impressive,” he said, remembering now that Carla had warned him ahead of time about just how much her mother talked.

  “I told you so.”

  “You told him what?” Mama demanded, flicking a dish towel at Carla’s hip. “You’ve been talking about me?”

  She leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her mother’s forehead. “Sure. I gave an interview on CNN. Didn’t you see it?”

  “Smart mouth. That’s what you are.” Mama clucked her tongue, waved a beckoning hand at Jackson, then turned into the house, obviously expecting him to follow.

  Jackson looked back at Reese.

  “She’ll be fine,” Carla said, pausing for a gulp of coffee. “She’ll just play with the puppies, won’t you, Reese?”

  The little girl nodded and eased back down to the ground, delighting the puppies, who immediately began to scale Mount Reese again.

  “When Mama’s got breakfast ready, we’ll call her in.” He still didn’t look convinced. “Come on; be a hero.”

  “What?” He looked up at her.

  Carla glanced into the kitchen and whispered above the sounds of pots and pans clanging together, “I haven’t had nearly enough coffee yet to deal with Mama. If you’re there, she’ll pester you instead.”

  Great. Jackson had the distinct feeling Mama would be a more formidable presence then the three women who’d descended on him yesterday, bearing salmonella.

  Run, Forrest, run. That one line from a movie rattled inside his head like a warning bell. Jackson knew he should turn and leave. Knew he should get Reese and go back to the silent house across the way. But suddenly silence seemed more like an enemy rather than the companion it had become over the last year. But then, had it really been a friendly thing? Or was it always an enemy and he simply hadn’t noticed that until today?

  Whatever the answer, he didn’t want to face the quiet alone. Not right now.

  When he started for the house, Carla smiled, and damned if it didn’t feel good to have that smile aimed at him.

  * * *

  A half hour later, the scent of bacon hung in the air, dirty dishes lay scattered across Carla’s kitchen table, and he knew more about the Candellano family than he would have thought possible.

  Morning sunlight poured through the windows, lying golden across the counters and floor. Reese sat beside him, surreptitiously handing Abbey bits of bacon under the table. On the wall opposite him, the ridiculous duck clock quacked seven times, and he told himself he and Reese should be going.

  But he was reluctant to leave the warmth of this place for the cold emptiness waiting for him across the street. So instead, he nursed his third cup of exceptional coffee and watched as Carla and her mother waged a friendly war of words. Even through the bickering, though, he saw the love binding the two of them. Amazed, he felt drawn to it at the same time he admitted silently that he knew nothing about this kind of bond. This kind of unconditional acceptance. This family tie that wound deep enough to hold but not strangle.

  He leaned back in his chair and remembered the string of foster homes he’d grown up in. Bounced from place to place, he’d never belonged. Never felt a part of anything. He’d thought that marrying Diane would fill that cold, dark spot inside him. Stupid, when neither of them had been in love. So it was hardly surprising that marriage hadn’t given him a sense of family.

  Until Reese.

  Until he’d looked into his daughter’s face when she was only moments old. In that one instant, Jackson had finally found the love that had eluded him all his life. One tiny girl had seemed to hold all the mysteries of the universe for him. He still remembered the swell of emotion that had risen up in him when the nurse placed his daughter in his arms for the first time.

  His gaze shifted to her now, and despite the ache for what he’d lost, what they’d both lost, he knew that he would do whatever he could to make her whole again.

  That was family, right?

  “I saw on Oprah,” Mama was saying.

  “Run,” Carla said, giving him a warning look. “Run fast and run far.”

  “What kind of thing is that to say?”

  “Compassionate,” Carla said, brown eyes snapping and a small twist of a smile curving her mouth.

  “Pay no attention to her,” Mama countered, waving a hand at her daughter and turning her gaze on Jackson. “Oprah’s a smart cookie.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “See? He agrees.”

  “He’s polite.” Carla grinned and took another sip of coffee. Really, he thought, it was incredible the change in her personality a little caffeine could manage.

  “Carla?” A man’s voice, followed by the slam of the front door and quick footsteps crossing the living room. By the time they all turned around to face the doorway, the sheriff was standing there, looking grim enough to give any criminal second thoughts.

  “Tony!” The older woman paled and pushed halfway out of her chair. “Beth? Tina?”

  “They’re fine,”
he said quickly, and Jackson watched color rush back into Angela Candellano’s features. Then the sheriff nodded and acknowledged, “Wyatt,” before turning on his sister. “Carla, we need your help.”

  She was already shaking her head. “No way.”

  Her eyes looked suddenly flat and bleak. Her face paled and Jackson had the weirdest urge to jump to his feet and put himself between Carla and her brother. The impulse to protect was so strong, so unexpected, he didn’t know what to make of it.

  But then Carla stood up and moved away and the moment was lost.

  Tony’d known coming over here that this wouldn’t be easy. His sister had a head like a rock when she wanted to. And in two years, no one had been able to talk her into doing what she did best. But today he wasn’t going to give her a choice. There was no time. And no one else to ask.

  “We’re organizing a search—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Carla said, walking to the window. She deliberately stared out at the sun-drenched yard, keeping her gaze on anything but Tony.

  “Too damn bad,” her brother said sharply, and Carla turned to look at him.

  “Don’t think you can bully me into this,” she snapped. “You know why I won’t.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  “I don’t have a choice and neither do you.”

  She moved back to the table, set her coffee cup down with a thunk, then wrapped her arms around her middle. “Sure I do. And I choose no.”

  “Damn it, Carla—”

  She snapped him a glare that would have fried a lesser man. “I’m not real happy with you anyway, Tony. So don’t push me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Carla’s gaze flashed to their mother, then back to him. Now wasn’t the time. But when she got him alone, she was going to ream him a new one.

  “Tony,” Mama interrupted, “maybe it’s not a good idea to…”

  He only glanced at her. “There’s a man missing, Mama. He’s fifty-five years old. An Alzheimer’s patient.”

  She crossed herself and muttered a fast prayer.

  Tony went on, shifting his gaze back to Carla and staring her down, silently daring her to refuse. “Plus he’s got heart problems. He needs to take medication for it. He wandered off from his family’s campsite last night. They looked for him for hours before alerting us. We’re rounding up everyone we can.” Briefly he shot a look at Jackson. “We could use your help on this, too. The more searchers we have, the better.”