A Mother's Day: Nobody's ChildBaby on the WayA Daddy for Her Daughters

by Emilie Richards

  Farrell watched as Gemma pulled the door to Mary’s room half-closed. She obviously wanted to be sure she would hear the little girl if Mary awoke during the night.

  He spoke when she joined him on the stairs. “Poor little thing. She’ll probably sleep a week.”

  “The boys wore her out, but she had fun. And she was holding her own there at the end. I think she really liked playing with Shawn.”

  Shawn was Katy and Michael’s son, the closest in age to Mary and a shade less aggressive than Patty’s boys. By the end of the evening, he had coaxed Mary out of Farrell’s lap to play with trucks in the sandbox. Farrell had kept close watch over them, but Shawn had been careful not to hurt or frighten her.

  “I know you can’t eat another bite,” Gemma said when they reached the bottom of the stairs, “but would you like some coffee before you go?”

  This was where he had made his exit the last time. Then he had known that the intimacy of sitting quietly over coffee with Mary sleeping upstairs would lead places that it shouldn’t. Tonight he knew the same thing, but he couldn’t seem to summon up the good sense to refuse her.

  “You’re probably tired.” At the bottom of the stairs, Gemma stopped and faced him as she spoke.

  The man who answered her was someone whose good sense had fled entirely. “You probably are, too. Do you really feel like making coffee?”

  “Sure. After Mary goes to bed, I always sit and unwind a little.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make the coffee. You supervise.”

  She started to protest, then she seemed to catch herself. “I’m not used to being waited on. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She made herself comfortable in her chair at the kitchen table. He could feel her eyes on him as he lifted the glass decanter from the coffeemaker. “I don’t cook much, but somewhere along the way I did learn to make a decent cup of coffee.”

  “Good for you. I was married to a man who would have thought that was beneath him.”

  “Did he expect you to do all the cooking?”

  She was silent long enough that he guessed she regretted mentioning her husband. “Jimmy believed in a division of labor,” she said at last. “He did the division, and I did the labor.”

  This was the first inkling he’d had that her marriage hadn’t been as happy as her sisters’. “Where do you keep the coffee and filters?”

  “In the cabinet to the right of the coffeemaker.”

  He found what he needed without trouble. “The morning after I brought Mary here, you told me that you bought this house for the yard. Did you live here with your husband before he died?”

  “No. We lived in Shore Haven, on the lake.”

  Shore Haven was an expensive housing development in the most exclusive suburb of the city. Farrell wondered if she regretted what was a noticeable move down in prestige. If so, the regret never showed.

  “I like this better,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.

  “Do you?”

  “We couldn’t really afford that house. Jimmy worked on commission. I was never sure from one month to the next whether we could pay the mortgage. We had to have the right cars to go with the house, of course, and an interior that would impress anyone who made it through a security system sophisticated enough to protect Fort Knox.” She smiled ruefully. “I don’t have to keep up with anybody here. I can do what I please.”

  “And what you please is taking care of other people’s kids.”

  “Yes.”

  Farrell switched on the coffeemaker, then leaned against the counter while the coffee brewed. “You must have had other options.”

  “I did. I could have kept my job at the preschool. And I’m certified to teach elementary school.”

  “I’m sure Mary’s glad you made the choices you did.”

  She seemed pleased. “Do you think so?”

  “She’s happier every time I see her. And she seems more alert.”

  “I took her in for developmental testing on Thursday.”

  “Do they have results?”

  “Not an official report, but the psychologist talked to me afterward. He says she’s definitely behind. I knew that, of course, but I think she’s already beginning to catch up. He’s not as optimistic as I am that it’s all environmental and that she’ll make up for everything she’s lost, but he seems to think that in the right kind of home, she’ll continue to improve.”

  “A home like this one.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Thank you.”

  “If she’s too far behind, she’ll be harder to place for adoption. That is, if the courts ever get around to making adoption a reality.”

  “I guess we have to take it one step at a time.”

  Farrell poured the coffee, which had just finished brewing. He heard the sound of Gemma’s chair sliding across the floor, but he was still surprised when he turned and found her inches away.

  “I was just getting the milk. I like…”

  Her pupils grew larger and her cheeks stained slowly with color. He knew he should move away, that if he did, nothing would be altered between them. He could still come and see Mary, still have casual conversations with Gemma. Nothing he had done today had changed anything. He and Gemma were still practically strangers.

  But she didn’t feel like a stranger when he put his arms around her. And she didn’t taste like a stranger when he kissed her.

  Lord, she didn’t taste like a stranger at all. She tasted like heaven.

  Her arms crept around his back as he pulled her even closer. Her lips were soft, and they clung to his with honeyed sweetness. Her body pressed so firmly against his felt as real and as forbidden as the happy life that had always been just out of his reach. He knew, as he kissed her, that she was all the things he had ever longed for and all the things he had been denied until, one day, he had finally stopped reaching for them.

  And still, he couldn’t let her go.

  “Farrell, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She whispered the words against his lips, not a protest but a confession.

  He heard her words, but he felt the heat of her flesh continue to fuse with his. She wanted reassurance. He had none to give, but still, she didn’t move away.

  He kissed her again, and her lips parted under his. He brushed his hands over her hips, then under her shirt. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his palms, and she sighed as his hands moved higher.

  His fingertips lingered at the edge of her bra, the softest lace against the rough calluses. He hooked an index finger under the catch and realized that with one twist, the bra would give way. He could feel her hips melting gently against his, her body seeking its rightful place. Desire flared like fireworks in a night sky, and for that moment he gave in to it and ignored the insistent voice warning him that he should move away.

  A car door slammed on the street in front of the house, and somewhere nearby a dog began to bark in protest. The ordinary neighborhood noises accomplished what a lifetime of caution had not. Farrell lifted his head and stared down at this woman who wasn’t ordinary at all. No, Gemma wasn’t ordinary, but she expected the world to give her ordinary things like love and family and happily-ever-afters. And how could he be the one to disappoint her?

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen, either.” He clasped her close rather than look into her eyes. Her head rested against his shoulder.

  “We can still go back to what we were,” she said.

  He shook his head, because he knew that nothing would ever be the same for him again.

  Her voice deepened with emotion. “I’ve been in love once. I couldn’t survive it again.”

  “I’ve never wanted to try love at all.”

  “So what do we do?”

  His body was telling him in no uncertain terms what they should do. He had never felt desire this compelling. And he had never felt anything this close to terror.

  “We don’t do anything.” His voice was gruff. “I leave.
”

  Her arms were still wrapped around him. They remained that way. “And when do you come back?”

  “It would be easier if I didn’t.”

  “Yes. But we’ve already passed ‘easy.”’ She let her arms fall to her sides. “I’ll settle for ‘difficult,’ if that means you’ll stay around until we sort this out.”

  “Is this something we can sort out?”

  She smiled sadly. “Not a chance.”

  He pushed a lock of hair off her cheek, and his fingertips lingered against her skin.

  She covered his hand and held it against her cheek. “Go home and think about this, Farrell.” She dropped her hand. “I’ll think, too.”

  He knew he would think about nothing else. He left her standing in the kitchen, beside the coffee he had brewed for them both.

  Chapter 6

  Archie strolled by Farrell’s desk in the report room, then backed up like a show horse being put through its paces. “Jeffries tells me you’re checking some leads on that little girl’s parents.”

  Farrell dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. “We talked it over. He’s in charge of the Keller Avenue investigation, but as long as I report anything I find, he doesn’t mind if I snoop a little.”

  “He wouldn’t. You know he’s been shorthanded since Canfield moved over to homicide.”

  The day had been long, and Farrell’s patience was uncharacteristically short. “Look, I’m doing this on my own time. I’m not working on this while I’m on duty, okay?”

  Archie didn’t address that. “You know we’ll be promoting a patrol officer to detective to work in vice with Jeffries.”

  “Relax. I’m not bucking for the job, Archie. I’m just trying to find Mary’s parents so her case can be settled.”

  “Isn’t she doing okay where she is?”

  “She’s doing great.”

  “So?”

  “A kid deserves to know where she’s going to wake up every morning.”

  “What if you find her folks, they want her back, and the courts choose not to stand in their way?”

  “I’m hoping that doesn’t happen.”

  Archie rubbed the back of his neck. Obviously it had been a long day for him, too. “You know you’re top of the list to make detective, don’t you?”

  Farrell didn’t answer. He’d heard rumors, but he wasn’t a particularly ambitious man. He liked his job; he would also like the move up to detective. In his professional life, as in his personal life, he didn’t hope for the things he might never have.

  When Farrell didn’t respond, Archie went on, “Some people are going to think you’re doing this to increase your chances. It could work against you.”

  “Then I’ll take myself out of the running if I have to. But I’m not about to take myself off this case.”

  Archie nodded. “Just do it on your own time.”

  “I promise you’ll get your usual pound of flesh.”

  “With you, it’s always been a pound and a half.” Archie rapped his knuckles on the desk, then turned and continued across the room.

  Cal, who had been on the telephone a few desks south of Farrell, came over to see what Archie had said. Farrell shook his head. “He just wanted to know about the Keller Avenue raid.”

  “I just got a tip from a guy who lives over on Keller. He says he remembers some things about the folks who set up shop in that house we raided. And he thinks he saw one of them last night at a Laundromat over on Fifth Street, but he’s not sure.”

  Farrell regarded his partner. “Who’s the guy who called? And why’d he call you?”

  “Max is a schoolfriend of Sheila’s. I’m the only cop he knows. He was probably afraid if he called and talked to just anyone, they might think he knows more than he does.”

  “You don’t think he’s involved?”

  “No, he’s a little eccentric, an artist or something, but he’s a good guy. He lives about half a mile farther down Keller, but he used to see the people at that house when he walked his dog. Had a run-in with one of them once when they almost backed a car over him. He remembers a couple of faces, that’s all.”

  The story seemed plausible enough, and it fit with the little Farrell had been able to discover on his own. If the man was really an artist, his description might be good enough to be helpful.

  In the days since the picnic at Patty’s, he had put in his time on patrol, then worked three or four hours each evening on Keller Avenue, trying to see if he could discover anything new. He had made a few contacts, and last night a guy in a bar had been able to tell him the street name of one of the men who had lived at the drug house. But this was the best break yet.

  Cal looked eager to help. “Do you want to go talk to him? I’m done here.”

  “Yeah. I’ll clear it with Jeffries.”

  “Hell, Jeffries would give you the case if he could. He’s got a pile of files so high, he can’t see over the top of his desk.”

  Farrell felt the thrill of the hunt, even though he schooled himself not to get his hopes up. “Let me finish my report, then we can get out of here.”

  Gemma heard the doorbell ring as she started down the stairs. She had just put Mary to bed for the night, and she was tired herself. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week, and she was beginning to feel the strain. For just a moment she was tempted to pretend she wasn’t at home. Patty or Katy might be standing at her front door to start one more conversation about Farrell and her future, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood.

  The temptation waned. Marge Tremaine had planned to stop by earlier, and since she might be here now, despite the lateness of the hour, Gemma knew she couldn’t really ignore the summons. She smoothed her hair behind her ears and opened the front door, only belatedly realizing that to be safe, she should have squinted through the peephole first.

  “Do you open your door to just anybody?”

  Farrell was standing on the front porch in civilian clothes. He was scowling, which did nothing to diminish his appeal.

  She was so surprised to see him that for a moment she didn’t speak. Then she pulled herself together. “No lectures, okay? I realized I forgot to check as I was opening the door. I usually do.”

  “This isn’t Shore Haven.”

  “You’re right. It’s a neighborhood for people with a whole lot less to steal.” She opened the door wider and gestured him inside. She didn’t even want to think about what she was feeling. “You just missed Mary. She almost fell asleep during her bath. By the time I tucked her in, she was out like a light.”

  “I didn’t come to see Mary.”

  Gemma’s heart beat a little faster. During the past week she had tried not to think about what had passed between them, about their mutual confusion and reticence, and the attraction that blinded them both to other things. But she had thought about those things anyway, in the darkest hours of night, and now she was paying the price.

  “I came to talk to you about Mary’s parents.”

  She lifted her chin. “I see.” She didn’t offer Farrell a seat or a cup of coffee. Not being hospitable was foreign to her, but Gemma was in no mood to pretend she was glad to be discussing business with this man.

  “Let’s sit.”

  Her shoulders drooped. She couldn’t politely resist his direct suggestion. She led him to the sofa and curled up against one end. “Have you heard something about Mary’s parents? Have you found them?”

  “No, but we’re closing in. I just wanted you to know that I’m looking for them, Gemma. I didn’t want you to find it out from somebody else.”

  “Is that your job?”

  “No. But I’ve made it mine. I’ve been working on it in the evenings. And we’re making some progress on the case.”

  “Why?” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Do you think she’ll be better off with them than she is with me?” The words were out before she could withdraw them. She knew how stupid they were, but her exhaustion and insecurity were showing
.

  “That’s what I was afraid you’d think.” Farrell leaned forward. “You have to know that’s not why I’m doing it.”

  “I’m sorry. Of course I do. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

  The doorbell rang again before Farrell could reply. She shook her head in apology. “I don’t know who that could be, unless it’s Marge.” At the blank look on his face she added, “Marge Tremaine. Mary’s caseworker. She said she wanted to stop by at dinnertime, but she never made it.”

  This time she used the peephole and discovered that it was indeed Marge on the other side of the door. She opened the door, and the caseworker, a middle-aged African-American woman whose tastes ran to bright colors that glowed against her dark skin, greeted her warmly. The two women were fast becoming friends.

  “I bet she’s in bed, isn’t she?” Marge said.

  “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry you missed her. She’s growing and learning by leaps and bounds.”

  “I got the psychologist’s report. He’s not as optimistic as you are, but we pay him to be cautious.” Marge seemed to sense someone else in the house and glanced toward the living room.

  Gemma filled her in. “Farrell Riley is here. He’s the policeman who brought Mary to me that night. Come meet him.”

  Farrell got to his feet. Gemma made the introductions, then waited until Marge made herself comfortable in the rocking chair. “Can I get you anything?”

  Marge waved her to the sofa. “Sit down, Gemma. You look beat. In a few minutes I’m going home to a good stiff drink and a hot bath. I just wanted to catch up with you first.”

  “Farrell has been telling me that there are some leads in the search for Mary’s parents.” Gemma sat back, hoping that the conversational ball would roll on without her. She didn’t know what to think about Farrell’s bombshell. He knew how well Mary was doing with her, yet he’d made it his mission to find the little girl’s parents. Why?

  “What kind of leads?” Marge asked, as Gemma had hoped she would. “Can you talk about it?”

  “We’ve got a couple of detailed descriptions we didn’t have before, and a possible sighting in the area. And if I can get a couple of people to look through mug books, we might even get some names. Anyway, we’re farther ahead than we were this morning.”