The fuss died down as Joel signaled the start. For the next half hour, the officers took notes on restraining orders, stolen cars and suspects at large, particularly a husky, bald man—not very creatively nicknamed Baldy for publicity purposes—who’d robbed several area pharmacies at gunpoint. The watch commander also assigned some officers to patrol Archway Acres and escort condo owners who needed to pick up stuff to go to their unit. Mercifully, he spared Rachel that duty.
When he was done, a couple of officers came over to congratulate her on the engagement. “When’s the wedding?” was the most frequent question, to which she admitted they hadn’t set a date.
“Be sure to invite the chief. I hear he played match-maker.” Elise’s teasing tone indicated she’d recovered her aplomb.
Rachel hadn’t considered in what light Lyons might regard this affair, especially once she and Russ staged their breakup. The chief was hypersensitive about any activities that reflected negatively on the department’s image.
“I just hope the newspaper doesn’t make a fuss,” she responded.
The Villazon Voice’s article about Nina’s rescue hadn’t come out yet, but given the paucity of news in town, Rachel expected Tracy to make much of it. Russ’s engagement to the cop who’d nearly arrested him ought to be a big deal, too.
As if matters weren’t ticklish enough, Captain Frank Ferguson, the chief’s right-hand man, materialized next to Rachel. “What’s all the fuss?”
Most of the cops were heading off to their cruisers, as she devoutly wished to do, but she gritted her teeth and filled him in. Frank, an easygoing department veteran in his late forties, accepted the information calmly.
“I’ll inform Chief Lyons,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll view it as a positive development in community relations.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said gratefully.
“They should have made you the chief,” Joel told the captain in a low voice. “We wouldn’t need someone to run interference if you were in charge.”
Frank waved away the compliment. “We’re lucky to have such a top-notch leader.”
Despite a year on the job, Lyons remained basically a stranger to the department. Still, Rachel considered Joel’s remark indiscreet. She chose to avoid office politics whenever possible.
The day’s only excitement occurred that afternoon when, at the request of hospital security, she broke up a heated argument between a husband and wife in the lobby. The sight of her uniform inspired them to start blaming each other for creating a problem, but her threat to arrest them both for creating a disturbance silenced them. The saddest part, to her, was that they’d been arguing about how to spend an expected inheritance from an ailing relative.
“Pack of hyenas,” muttered Sgt. Derek Reed, who’d been meeting with hospital staff in his role as community liaison. Although providing backup wasn’t among his duties, he’d leaped at the chance as if itching for action.
Rachel watched the couple stalk past the gift shop and out of the building. Surely they’d begun their marriage starry-eyed and deeply in love, and now look at them. “These situations bring out people’s worst side, I guess.”
“I’d rather leave everything I own to charity than to grasping relatives like that.” Derek broke off complaining to add, “By the way, congrats. I hear there’s cause for celebration.”
“Darn right.” Rachel would have preferred to leave the subject at that, but Marta made a beeline toward them from the boutique. These days, a slight limp and a jagged scar half-hidden by makeup were the only reminders of her near-fatal accident eleven years ago. Other than Connie, Marta was the only one who knew the truth about the engagement.
She gave no sign of her inside knowledge. Instead, she chatted cheerily to Derek about the quarreling couple, who’d stopped by the gift shop earlier and nearly fought World War III over which bouquet to purchase. Glancing between the two of them, Rachel realized with a start that Marta found Sgt. Hit-and-Run attractive.
That was too bad. Marta’s boyish figure and short, light-brown hair didn’t fit the playboy’s preferred blond-and-buxom type. He at least appeared to listen attentively to her, but then, Marta was so outgoing almost everyone warmed to her.
Rachel excused herself to return to duty. Perhaps as a friend, she ought to stick around and encourage the conversation, but she didn’t work for Cupid; she worked for the Villazon PD. Besides, she was hardly an expert at swaying men’s hearts.
At shift’s end, Rachel completed her paperwork promptly. On the way out, she passed Chief Lyons in the hall.
“Frank tells me best wishes are in order.” Lyons might have been distant, but he possessed the no-nonsense air of a man who’d spent years on patrol. Some of those who’d applied for his job were reputed to have spent so much time and effort smoothing their rise to power that they barely remembered they were cops. “Kind of sudden, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Who’d have guessed playing tour guide could be so rewarding?” she responded. The lighthearted remark spared her the necessity of lying outright.
“I’d better add ‘matchmaker’to my résumé.” He paused. “On second thought, better not. Romance isn’t my strong suit.” A widower for the past dozen years, Lyons had struggled to raise a rebellious teenage son. Whether for personal reasons or to prevent any breath of scandal, he reputedly avoided dating even outside the department.
Rachel dredged up an innocuous reply and escaped. She would rather storm a building full of armed suspects than make nice with the brass.
It was close to four o’clock when she parked at Russ’s house and walked around the corner to the day care address. Despite its two-story height, the house had a cozy air with a roofed porch and potted pansies lining the walkway. Through a side fence, Rachel glimpsed colorful play equipment. So far she approved.
She rang the bell, glad that she’d changed out of her uniform at the station. You never knew how people might react.
Inside, childish footsteps pelted toward the front. “Whoa, Ken!” called a woman’s voice. “Remember the rule. Only grown-ups answer the bell.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Clearly one of the caretaker’s children.
The door swung open. The woman standing there looked familiar, yet Rachel couldn’t place her. Medium height, delicate features, shoulder-length straight brown hair. Cataloging her features produced no additional insights.
“I’m here to collect Lauren,” Rachel said.
“You must be…” The brown eyes widened in recognition. “Rachel!”
A memory surfaced. “Keri?”
“Wow! So you’re engaged to that handsome doctor. Good for you!” The door swung wide.
Keri Borrego, daughter of then-chief Vince Borrego, had been in college when Rachel joined the force, and they’d met at her parents’ annual barbecue for the department. Both single, they’d enjoyed chatting there and at various other police functions. Then Keri had married a real estate attorney and moved away.
Her father’s forced retirement and her parents’ divorce must have been tough. But marriage and motherhood obviously agreed with her.
“I wasn’t aware you’d moved back to the area.” As she spoke, Rachel surveyed the living room’s child-friendly furniture. A couple of couches, a TV on a sturdy low table and a large shelf of picture books left plenty of space for three boys racing toy trains around a track.
One youngster shouted, “Vroom, vroom!” as he whizzed a locomotive through the air. Keri merely smiled. A tolerance for noise must be a requirement for anyone supervising kids.
“About six months ago, Ed took a job with a law firm in Whittier. I’m happy to be back in the area.” Keri indicated the children. “That’s my son Ken over there with his two friends, Tommy and Cade, and my twins, Kim and Mary, are in the den with Lauren. I’m licensed to watch six children.”
“How did things go today?” A new school and a new after-school center might have thrown Lauren off balance. Rachel didn’t underestimate the
potential for tantrums.
“She became a bit stressed this afternoon,” Keri confided. “My teenage helper herded the boys outside while I read quietly to the girls. That soothed her.”
A bit apologetically, Keri added, “I suppose it’s indulgent of me to pay an assistant, but by three-thirty I’m tired and my patience wears thin.”
“I doubt I’d last more than a couple of hours with six kids.” Rachel had supervised foster siblings occasional evenings and weekends. The experience had been fun but exhausting.
“I can see why you impressed Russ,” Rachel remarked.
“He’s quite a guy, stepping in to raise his daughter on short notice. She’s lucky to have you both.”
Keri provided a quick tour of the downstairs. The gated stairs and childproof outlets reassured Rachel. She also appreciated the streamlined kitchen, not a china knick-knack in view.
They paused at the entrance to a large den. On the far side, Lauren and two younger girls were sprawled on a rug, playing a board game. A chubby teenager helped them count play money.
Catching sight of her, Lauren leaped to her feet so fast she scattered game pieces. “You’re here!” She ran forward, then stopped. Apparently her relief at seeing a familiar face extended only so far.
“Hi, sweetie. I promised to pick you up unless all heck broke loose in town, so here I am. Have fun today?” Rachel asked.
“Yeah.” The little girl hovered close by, not quite touching.
Over the child’s head, Rachel acknowledged an introduction to Keri’s after-school helper, Lisa Chin. The girl looked about fifteen.
“Lisa lives next door.” Keri tucked Lauren’s possessions into her backpack.
“You moved in with that cute pediatrician, right?” Lisa finger-combed long dark hair streaked with strawberry highlights.
“They’re getting married!” Lauren proclaimed proudly.
Rachel merely smiled.
“A couple of divorcées are going to be severely disappointed,” Keri teased. “When he showed up at the homeowners meeting last month, they figured they’d hit the jackpot.”
Rachel laughed. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, unless I’m hung up at work.”
“Busting bad guys, huh?” Lisa said.
“You bet!” Lauren confirmed.
Taking Lauren’s hand, Rachel slung the backpack over her shoulder and strolled out. On the walk around the block, she listened to an account of the day’s events. Lauren liked her new teacher, but the kids weren’t nearly as nice as the friends from her old school.
“Give them a chance. And what about—” Rachel searched for the names of the twins “—Kim and Mary? They seem friendly.”
“They’re babies,” Lauren scoffed. “They’re in preschool.”
“Totally uncool.”
A giggle. “Yeah!”
As they mounted the porch steps, Rachel felt a rush of tenderness for this small, intense person. As long as the engagement lasted, she vowed to be the best substitute mommy in the entire world.
ON TUESDAY Russ worked a schedule reminiscent of his pressure-cooker internship. He slated patients during his lunch hour to compensate for the time he’d spent yesterday making arrangements for Lauren. Then from 3:00 to 6:00 p.m. he worked his regular volunteer stint at the outreach clinic housed on the hospital’s lower level.
One of the factors that had attracted him to Villazon was this low-cost clinic sponsored by the medical center. While California provided insurance for poor kids, many still fell through the cracks.
To him, volunteering fulfilled a longstanding goal. For the first few years after completing his residency, Russ had served a high-paying clientele, logging as many hours as possible to pay off student loans. An unexpectedly large inheritance from his grandfather had enabled him to retire the debts and afford a down payment on a home, as well as pursue his desire to care for kids in need. So he donated part of each Tuesday to treat problems that ranged from asthma and ear infections to more serious afflictions.
Since Russ refused to leave any child unexamined, he didn’t finish until nearly six-thirty. The intense focus required to diagnose and prescribe for so many patients left him pretty stressed out, despite the sense of satisfaction.
In West L.A., he’d listened to classical music on the short commute home and released his tensions by anticipating a quiet, stress-free evening. During the past few days, however, Rachel and Lauren had turned his once-predictable world upside down. And the drive took only ten minutes, not nearly long enough for the tightness to seep from his muscles.
Nor did Russ’s disposition improve when the whirring rise of the garage door revealed an interior too crammed for him to pull inside. Someone had stacked a bed frame, mattress and bureau inside, along with boxes of books that he’d stored in the second bedroom.
Russ tried to subdue his irritation. Obviously, his daughter’s possessions must have arrived. Janine had e-mailed yesterday that she’d hired a truck to bring them, but the driver was supposed to call Russ’s cell number to schedule the drop-off.
Why couldn’t people follow simple directions? he reflected dourly. And why had Rachel stuck everything in the middle of the garage instead of somewhere more convenient?
He forced himself to recognize the effects of hunger and fatigue on his mood. A man’s home might be his castle when he lived alone, but since he’d chosen to lower the drawbridge, he’d better cut his new housemates some slack.
Russ drew in several deep breaths while locking the car. Scents of bare earth, flowers and cooking reached him, a welcome change from the exhaust fumes of Los Angeles. Relative equanimity restored, he opened a side door into the kitchen.
Disorder reigned. Pots, pans, utensils, spices and food packages cluttered the counters, which he’d left in pristine shape, and the air hung heavy with the aromas of maple syrup, broiling meat and burnt bread. White powder smeared a corner of the floor.
Lauren, a streak of yellow mustard on one cheek, was setting ketchup and margarine on the table. “Russ!” she shrieked. “Rachel, Russ is home!” And ran to throw flour-dusted arms around him.
I will not snap at my innocent child, Russ resolved. Hanging on to his temper, he ignored the white fingerprints festooning his suit jacket.
But until now, he realized, he hadn’t considered the nerve-shredding impact of his new lifestyle. He’d seen in his practice that not everyone was cut out for the daily pressures of raising a family. And interacting with a perpetually irritable parent chipped away bit by bit at a child’s self-esteem.
He had to master this flaw. Otherwise, his hasty leap into fatherhood had done his daughter a great disservice.
Janine had warned him. Russ hoped he wasn’t going to have to admit she’d been right.
He closed his eyes and prayed for self-control.
Chapter Eight
One look at Russ’s face told Rachel she should have anticipated how he’d react to her culinary chaos. She’d scarcely noticed the mess because she’d been so engrossed.
His strained air spoke louder than words. Apparently he liked a kitchen sterile enough to double as an operating room. She’d figured he simply hadn’t finished decorating yet.
“I’ll clean up when we’re done.” She added an apologetic shrug. “Guess I got carried away.”
Above a flour-smeared suit that had been pristine moments ago, he wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression. “No problem.” The phrase choked out of his throat.
“I burned the buns.” Lauren held on to her father. “In the toaster. They’re for the hamburgers.”
“I love burned buns.” A good sport. Or perhaps merely shell-shocked.
“I’m broiling the meat.” Rachel squashed an impulse to suggest Russ install a grill on the patio. He didn’t appear to be a barbecue-in-the-backyard type. “Also, by special request, pancakes.”
“For dinner?” he asked dazedly.
Lauren hopped in place. “They’re my favorite!”
Moving to
the stove, Rachel flipped the second batch. “I decided to indulge in comfort food this evening. We’re also having fruit salad. We can do the green healthy routine tomorrow.”
Russ’s jaw worked. She wondered what bothered him most—the poor nutrition or the chaos. Then she considered that being forced to park in the driveway probably hadn’t thrilled him, either.
“Sorry about the garage. Lauren’s furniture arrived right before five, and I didn’t want to leave the old stuff outside in case of rain,” she explained. “We can reorganize later.”
“Sure.” Gently untangling his daughter, he brushed his suit over a wastebasket. “There’s no point in my changing before dinner. How can I help?”
Rachel was about to suggest he pour the drinks when Lauren burst out, “My books came! I’ll read you my favorite.”
“Great.” When she dashed off, he hovered uncertainly. “Am I supposed to follow her or what?”
Better to postpone the shock of observing the makeover she’d done on Lauren’s bedroom. “Stick around. You can pour her milk while you’re waiting.” Rachel switched off the gas under the frying pan, grabbed pot holders and opened the broiler to remove the burgers.
“Fine.” He fetched three glasses. “Water okay for you?”
“My favorite.” As Rachel transferred meat to a serving plate, she said, “I appreciate your patience. I didn’t mean to take over your house, but things happened fast.”
He aligned the glasses on the table. “I’m not complaining. You’re here at my request. Well, sort of.”
“Another night at Connie’s and they’d have had to lock me in a padded cell,” she joked. “As for Lauren, parents have to go with the flow.”
“That’s never been my forte.” He sounded grim.
“Entertaining second thoughts?”
When he didn’t reply, she knew she’d hit close to the truth. Although Rachel was tempted to grab him and insist that absolutely no way could he change his mind, she had to go easy on the doc. He’d stumbled into uncharted territory. A few doubts didn’t spell retreat.
“It’ll pass,” she said mildly, and scooped the flapjacks onto a plate.
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