“I hope so.”
Lauren pelted in holding a picture book, The Velveteen Rabbit. Russ’s gaze traveled between her and the table piled with food. “One page has to be enough for now. Otherwise dinner will get cold.”
“Okay.” She opened to the front. “Once upon a time, a little girl named Lauren met a fairy. The fairy gave her three wishes.” Lauren shut the book. “Let’s eat!”
Gently, Russ lifted the book and regarded the print. “Where does it say that?”
“Right there!” she replied indignantly.
His forehead creased. “The story’s about a stuffed rabbit.”
“She’s at the prereading stage.” Rachel had held enough foster kids on her lap and listened to their wild tales to recognize the process. “She understands the magic of the printed word, even if she can’t decipher it yet, so she invents her own tale.”
Russ shot her a grateful look before addressing his daughter. “Very creative, sweetie.” He handed her the book. “Put that away so food can’t land on it, okay?”
Satisfied, Lauren dashed out.
“My pediatric experience doesn’t appear to translate very well,” he admitted to Rachel. “I understand kids in theory.”
“You catch on fast.” She removed the apron from her jeans and knit top, then sank onto a chair that rocked beneath the impact. “This thing’s out of kilter.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Such a flaw cried out for remedy. “You never thought to sand down the legs?”
“I use the other chairs.” Russ shifted the platters so the plate of burned buns didn’t jut out over the table’s edge. “A classic case of avoidance, don’t you think?”
“I can fix it if you like,” Rachel responded.
“I’ll do it eventually.”
She interpreted that as a warning that this remained his house and these were his possessions. Heck, she knew that. On the other hand, he’d better figure out quick that sharing required easing off the controls.
Once Lauren returned, they dug in. Eating mellowed Russ, and Lauren held center stage in the conversation. She liked the playground at school, she told them, but the snack had been yucky. “Crackers and carrots! Ugh!”
“Who provided the food?” Russ asked, ladling a second helping of fruit salad into his daughter’s bowl.
“The room mom.” A brief reflection. “Today’s letter was C.”
“That’s why the crackers and carrots.” At Rachel’s impatient signal, he added a few more pieces of pineapple. “That’s a fun way of teaching the alphabet.”
“They could have served cupcakes,” Rachel remarked. “Or cookies. Those both start with C.”
“Cantaloupe would be healthier.” Russ frowned into the fruit salad. “Although I’d say we have a bit too much of that. I’d prefer cherries.”
Lauren joined the game. “Candy! That’s a C word!”
“In fruit salad?” teased her father.
“No! For snacks!”
“While we’re using the letter C, at least they didn’t turn you into cannibals,” Rachel said.
Russ nearly choked on a bite of pancake. Lauren dropped her fork. “That’s gross!”
“Sorry.” Rachel decided to move on, fast. “If tomorrow’s letter is D, they’d better serve doughnuts.”
“And Danish!” Lauren cried gleefully.
“Dental floss,” said Russ. “Afterward, I mean.”
His daughter wrinkled her nose.
Following dinner, they all pitched in to restore order in the kitchen. Lauren carried plates and condiments, Russ loaded the dishwasher, and Rachel tackled the counters and floor.
Then, unable to delay the moment of truth any further, she trailed father and daughter down the hall to what had been, only a few hours ago, a starkly utilitarian chamber done in beiges and browns. She stopped behind Russ at the entrance to the darkened room.
He waited in the doorway while Lauren switched on her newly installed lamp. Through a rose-colored shade, light flooded a scene of floral excess that, in Rachel’s estimation, lacked only a dose of perfume to render it totally cloying.
She wouldn’t have bought this kind of stuff on a dare. But then, she wasn’t a frills-and-flounces kind of girl. Lauren obviously loved the decor.
A pink comforter and bolster matched the canopy atop a four-poster bed, which was flanked by an ornate white dresser and table. In the corner, an overstuffed armchair squeezed against a curlicued bookcase. Since Lauren had insisted on unpacking everything, Rachel had piled the horizontal surfaces with dolls and stuffed animals. Connie would certainly have approved.
Russ folded his arms. “I assume your previous bedroom was larger than this one.”
A big nod.
“I’m sorry if you feel cramped.” He eyed the bedside table. “You don’t need every single piece, do you?”
“Yes!”
“But you’ll be tripping over them!”
“That’s all right,” Lauren said. “I’ll take them home with me.”
Russ froze. Rachel ached for the child, who, despite the events of the weeks since her grandparents’ deaths, still didn’t understand the permanence of the situation.
Russ moved into the room and knelt beside his daughter. “Honey, this is your home now.”
Her dark brown eyes filled with tears. “I want Grandma and Grandpa!”
“I know you miss them, but you’ll be happy here.” When he reached for her, she backed off.
“They’ll come fetch me!” she protested, grabbing her new policeman doll.
At this age, death didn’t seem real to kids. Rachel’s aunt, the only member of the family who’d visited, had died of heart failure eight months after Rachel’s placement. She’d been angry for months, certain Aunt Theresa could return if she chose to.
Russ continued in a low, earnest tone. “I’m sure Janine explained about the plane crash. Honey, even though your grandparents loved you more than anything, they’re gone.”
“No!” Lauren squeezed Officer Bud so hard Rachel feared it might break. “Take me home.”
“Your grandparents don’t own that house anymore.” He seemed to be casting about for an explanation she could grasp. “Janine does.”
“I’ll stay with her. I hate it here!” She stamped her foot.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I hate you!”
Rachel held her breath. If Russ was already regretting his decision, the child had handed him an excuse to throw in the towel. She recognized, and at some level he must also, that the tantrum sprang from fear and pain. Still, if he shrank from making a commitment, he might con himself into believing he was only obeying her wishes by returning her to her mother.
Instead of replying, Russ moved to the easy chair. “Did your grandparents used to sit here and read to you?”
Stiffly, Lauren nodded.
He glanced thoughtfully around the overstuffed chamber. “Did your dolls and bears gather to listen?”
“Sometimes.” She buried her face in the doll. At least the foot stomping had ended.
“I’ll bet they miss Grandma and Grandpa, too, don’t they?” Plucking a fuzzy bear from the shelf, he marched its little legs along the chair’s arm and lowered it beside him.
Rachel’s throat clenched. His action seemed utterly natural, yet she suspected this man hadn’t played with stuffed animals since infancy.
“My toys cry at night.” A tear marked Lauren’s cheek. “I tell them stories. The ones Grandma used to tell me.”
“Does that help them feel better?” Russ selected a panda, which stumped down to join the bear.
“Yes.” She dangled Officer Bud at her side.
Taking the doll gently, Russ tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Where’s The Velveteen Rabbit?”
She ran to the shelves. Bringing it to him, she climbed into her father’s lap as he began to read the story of a toy that was loved so much it became real.
Rachel slipped out. She co
uldn’t face anyone until she hid unwelcome tears and got a grip on the emotions boiling to the surface.
Her chest hurt. Inside, an abyss opened, threatening a gut-wrenching crying spell such as she hadn’t endured since adolescence. Breathe slowly. Don’t give in.
Most adults failed to understand how much toys meant. Kids invested them with such strong personalities that, as in the book, their playthings seemed like real friends. Amazing that Russ, who hadn’t struck her as particularly playful, had grasped that truth intuitively.
If only she’d known a father like that during her early years. Later, Tom Byers had tried to fill the void with his bluff, jovial manner, but due to her earlier experiences, Rachel had had difficulty trusting him. Mostly she’d tagged along with the other children in the home, satisfied to remain under his protection but a little apart.
How lucky Lauren was. If only every child could have a father like that.
Rachel retreated to the sunroom, where louvered glass overlooked the rear lawn. Darkness had fallen, rendering the yard a mass of shadows. Beyond the fence, safety lights dotted the parking lot of the warehouse complex that abutted Amber View.
Rachel stared out, fighting for composure. She focused on the austere lines of lights marching into the distance and the unsentimental square shapes of the buildings.
When Russ entered, she remained motionless. He flicked on a lamp, which hurt her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to dredge up an offhand comment to keep from answering directly. Her mind went blank.
The divan dipped beside her. Russ had changed into casual clothes that smelled of fresh detergent, she noticed. “Are you having trouble digesting the pancakes and hamburgers? That was an odd combination.”
He thought she had gas? To Rachel’s embarrassment, laughter and misery combined into a loud hiccup. “Darn.”
“At least you’re speaking. Try again but leave off the sound effects.”
She sniffled. Giving away too much.
Russ peered closer and said in wonder, “You’re crying. Why?”
She managed an unconvincing shrug. “Old tapes. Childhood crap. Don’t worry about it.”
“Now that we’re engaged, you can confide in me.” His arm brushed hers. The closeness felt so comforting that if Rachel hadn’t been so tall, she might have crawled onto his lap like Lauren.
Yeah, right. Officer Byers sobbing her heart out on the doc’s clean clothes. “Nothing to confide.”
“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and something’s obviously bothering you.” He slid an arm around her. “Hey, I’m in father mode. Spill it. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to.”
Continuing to argue was pointless. Might as well tell her story. “I mentioned that I grew up with foster kids, right? The part I left out was that I was one of them.”
“You lost your family?” Sympathy tinged his voice.
“Lost?” She thought of Nina in the parking garage, with the doctor stopping to help and anxious parents rushing to claim her. A scary situation but neatly resolved. “What happened was a lot messier than that.”
Russ pressed his cheek to her hair. “Tell me.”
How could compassion cause such anguish in her? Rachel stiffened, and he moved his arm onto the back of the sofa.
“I’ve said enough.” Even now, more than a quarter century later, the pain not only lingered but, given half a chance, festered. “I got adopted by the right family, and that’s all that counts.”
“What happened to your birth parents?” Russ persisted.
In view of their living arrangement, she supposed she ought to tell him. “My real dad split while Mom was pregnant. He’d also abandoned a couple of kids by other women, so I don’t fool myself that he’d be thrilled if his cop daughter tracked him down.”
“Go on.”
“Mom and I lived with her boyfriend, Ernie.” She recalled little except small, dark rooms and the stink of moldering onions from the overflowing trash. Unable to describe the couple except through sarcasm, she explained, “They only quarreled when they drank, and they never drank except when they could scrape together enough money to buy booze.”
“Which is saying you lived in constant turmoil,” he summarized.
Exactly. “After a while you take the screaming for granted, like having a TV on in the background.” Analyzing the ugly memories helped more than she would have expected. “You recognize the different levels of quarreling, like whether they’re crabby because they ran out of ice or whether somebody’s in danger.”
“Are you aware that you stopped talking in the first person?” Russ said.
“What?”
“You quit saying ‘I’ and began using ‘you.’ Distancing yourself.”
“You’d have kept your distance from Ernie, too.” She’d reached the tricky part. Better to dive in fast. “He spanked me for any infringement. If he was hung over, loud breathing counted as an offense.”
“Are we talking a swat on the rump or worse?”
The knot in Rachel’s chest had grown large enough to anchor a sailing vessel. But she’d traveled this far, so she might as well finish. “He wasn’t sadistic, but he lashed out with anything he could grab. A rolled-up newspaper. A beer bottle. His belt.”
“You were how old?” The question bristled with anger.
“Four when a neighbor spotted my bruises and refused to buy the ‘she fell in the bathtub’ excuse. The D.A. brought charges, and I guess Ernie went to prison for a while. A few months later a social worker found Mom in an alcoholic haze. I was standing on a stool, heating soup in a pot, unsupervised.” The Byerses had related that story to Rachel.
“That’s when you moved to the foster home?” He stroked her hair. This time, the gentle touch soothed her.
“Right. Mom tried to win me back for a while. She couldn’t stick with rehab, though. After a drunk-driving arrest, she relinquished her claim. Too much trouble to quit boozing, I guess. If she’d died, at least I could have pretended she cared.”
Her eyes were burning again. Rats.
“Did you try to contact her as an adult?” Russ asked.
“She died when I was thirteen. An aneurysm, I heard.” Rachel had received the news stoically. At that age, she’d retained only vague memories from early childhood and hadn’t yet matured enough to see her mother as a person.
“No other relatives?”
“My aunt Theresa visited a few times, but her health was poor and she didn’t live long. Nobody else.” She refused to seek out uncaring relatives. “I figure if they were worth a damn, they’d have taken me in when I needed them.”
“That’s probably how Lauren would feel someday,” he observed. “Thank you for helping me keep her.”
“Glad to.” She rested her head on Russ’s shoulder.
Thank goodness none of her buddies could see her acting so pathetic. Leaning on others wasn’t what she did. Tonight, though, the physical contact felt good, possibly because she’d relieved the pain of old losses, or because she simply liked this guy.
“Now I understand why you tried to clean my clock when you thought I’d kidnapped that little girl,” he murmured.
“Any cop would feel the same. My personal background has no bearing on my work.” She’d resolved from the start not to yield to emotions. “If I overreact, I pose a danger to the public and to my fellow officers.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that.”
“Just clarifying.” She rested there, buoyed by his nearness. “You’d have made a good shrink, Doc. You show a talent for getting inside people’s heads. You did a great job of handling Lauren, too, with that business about reading to her toys.”
He didn’t immediately answer. Rachel simply waited. That was the trick to listening.
“Don’t give me more credit than I deserve,” he said contritely. “As you may have guessed earlier, when I came home tonight, I started questioning whether I’d made the right decision about taking in Lauren.
”
She nodded, and he explained, “At the end of a trying day, I’m accustomed to peace and quiet. Instead, the two of you flew in my face. Not your fault, but it made me irritable and a little resentful.”
“But you wouldn’t reject a child over that,” she said.
“Of course not. But I believe it’s unfair to raise a child with negative emotions.” He was breathing fast, considering he hadn’t moved.
“Only saints don’t have negative emotions,” Rachel returned. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it, though, when she yelled about hating this place and you and wanting to go home.”
His chest rose and fell. “I realized she must be testing me. Making sure I’d stick around even though she misbehaved. Ironically, when I saw how vulnerable she was, I felt this great wave of love for her. It’s scary, that I had considered backing out even for just a moment.”
“You were tired,” Rachel pointed out.
He shook his head. “That’s no excuse. As a doctor, I’ve lectured parents about setting aside their mental state to focus on the child. Arrogant, huh?”
Rachel had exhausted her supply of sympathetic remarks. “Yeah, you’re a real pain in the butt.”
A tickle in the ribs caught her off guard. Checking her instinct to wrestle the man to the floor, she settled for a light punch on the arm.
Russ leaned over and cupped her face with one hand. She blinked, startled, and then curved instinctively toward him. Their lips touched, then his teased hers and probed deeper. Rachel had thought of kisses as mere preface, but this was intoxicating.
Melting against him, she relished the scent of Russ’s skin and the edge of his teeth. His fingers tugged through her hair, and heat built inside her. Stroking his arms and chest raised tantalizing images of what lay beneath the sweater. She drew the knit fabric high, revealing a flat stomach. Bent and traced a line with her tongue.
“Whoa.” He stopped her with a light touch.
Oh, right—open door and kid not necessarily a sound sleeper. She sat up. “You want to adjourn to another room?”
Russ averted his face. “That might be pushing this engagement business a bit far.”
Did he have to take everything so seriously? “I was just fooling around. Hey, don’t you ever follow your instincts?”
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