by Jan Washburn
The doctor started giving instructions to Tracy, as though she were Luke’s mother. You’ll need to come back next Friday or see your family doctor to have the stitches out, he began. Cheeks burning, she stepped back so Leif could get the information.
Everything looks good, but watch for any sign of infection. Kids are hardy, but after a fall you should also keep an eye on him for any indication of internal bleeding or concussion.
Looking ten years younger, Leif shook the doctor’s hand. Thank you, doctor. We’ll take good care of him. He swept Luke up into his arms again.
As they walked out to the SUV, Luke admired his bandage as though it were a medal of valor. Wait till I show the guys, he bragged.
Although he had recovered from his trauma, Tracy settled the boy into her lap in the SUV. He’d be a hero in the schoolyard while his uncle recovered from a nervous breakdown. She kept her bloody blouse hidden under Mark’s jacket. No need to traumatize the little Superboy. Hugging him close, she planted a kiss on top of his head.
She felt Leif’s gaze as they backed out of their parking space. There was a new glint in his eye—a gleam of gratitude instead of his usual look of suspicion or caution. And something more—a spark of intense heat.
She didn’t want to guess what that spark meant, but it started a fire. The heat blazed through her as Leif spoke. Thanks, Tracy. I don’t know how you talked Luke through that. You are something special.
****
The whole family waited at the door as Leif carried Luke into the house. Although Luke’s mother was still in a wheelchair with the injuries from the plane crash, Anne insisted on holding Luke in her lap. Val, his father, leaned on his crutches and hovered over them, while Mark danced circles around them.
Luke thoroughly enjoyed his role as the wounded hero. I bleeded all over Miss Dixon, he said proudly. And I didn’t cry when the doctor stitched me up.
Did you get the foul ball? Mark asked as though Luke’s injuries were secondary to something really important, like catching a baseball.
Naw, Luke grumbled. My shirt caught on the railing and I landed right on my catching arm.
You were lucky you didn’t break any bones, young man, his father put in.
Or fracture your skull, his mother added.
He must have inherited a thick head from the Ericson side of the family, Leif suggested.
Did you win the game, Mark? Luke steered the conversation back to the crucial matters.
Yeah, we won by a mile. Once we got ahead, they couldn’t catch us again. Coach gave me my home run ball to keep.
Luke squirmed out of his mother’s arms. I want to see it, he exclaimed.
With a whoop, the boys bounded out of the room as though they were in a foot race. Looking after them, Anne sighed. How come we didn’t have a nice quiet little girl who just played with dolls all day?
Val laughed. With our luck we’d get a tomboy who spent all her time climbing trees.
Leif smiled, remembering Tracy’s tale about her adventure with the tree house. She seemed to know just the right way to take Luke’s mind off the doctor’s stitching. He was trying to remain objective about Tracy’s guilt or innocence, but today his suspicions lost ground to his gratitude and admiration. She had such tenderness in those gorgeous eyes as she cuddled Luke.
So far he had been fairly successful in resisting Tracy’s beauty, but every time he was with her he found something new to attract him—her spunk, her compassion. The way she walked as though she were moving to music. The way she treated the boys as friends instead of pests.
So Luke bled all over Miss Dixon, Val said. Isn’t she the one who was involved in the jewelry theft?
She’s the one, Leif admitted. Mark invited her to the game. I had to take her along to the hospital to keep pressure on Luke’s wound while I drove.
Leif caught his brother’s curious expression. Val and Anne were inveterate matchmakers. They tried to fix him up with every single woman in Massachusetts, from Cape Cod to the Berkshire Hills. They were way off base if they thought he was interested in Tracy Dixon. He knew the Lord would find the right woman for him, but in the meantime, he was a professional cop. It would be a mistake to get involved with a suspect. His only interest in Tracy was solving a crime.
And then an irritating voice in the back of his head caught his attention. Just keep reminding yourself of that, Mr. Professional Cop .
****
Tracy collapsed into the recliner in her living room, exhausted by the tension of the past few hours. She needed to change her clothes and soak her bloodstained shirt in cold water, but first she needed to just sit for a minute and get her second wind.
She groaned when she heard a knock at the door. Leif? No, he was taking Luke home to his parents. Don’t let it be Keith again, she thought, struggling to her feet.
She didn’t recognize the distinguished white-haired gentleman on her doorstep. Miss Tracy Dixon? he inquired. I’m John Whitby.
Whitby! Tracy drew a long breath. The retired judge appointed as Jeff’s guardian ad litem to investigate her. Wishing she could wave a wand and magically disappear, she realized what the judge was seeing—an exhausted woman with uncombed hair in wrinkled, bloodstained clothes.
I’m Tracy Dixon, she managed. Please come in.
Is everything all right? He stared uneasily at the splotches of blood. He probably thought she had just added murder to her rap sheet.
Everything’s fine now, she hurried to explain. I just returned from the emergency room, helping a little boy with a gash on his arm.
The judge didn’t look convinced, but he followed her into the living room and settled on the sofa. He spoke very formally as though this were a trial in his courtroom. You have petitioned to be named conservator of your brother’s assets. I believe you were notified that I have been appointed Jeffrey Dixon’s guardian ad litem to investigate your qualifications to serve in that capacity.
Yes, sir, Tracy mumbled. Her nerves were signaling a frantic SOS. She felt as though she were a defendant on trial.
Are you and your brother close? Are you on good terms?
Jeff and I are very close, she whispered. We’ve been best friends since we were small.
But you don’t see each other often. The judge peered over his glasses like a scholarly owl.
I live in New York—well, Brooklyn really. Explaining her aversion to visiting Allerton would make matters worse. Of course, Judge Whitby was probably well aware of her scandalous reputation in town.
When was the last time you saw your brother before his accident?
I came home for a long weekend in October when my mother was getting ready to move to Florida.
And you and your brother were on good terms then?
Tracy swallowed hard. She hated to tell him that Jeff was drunk most of the time she was here. We argued a little about his drinking, she admitted, but I love Jeff dearly and he loves me.
You have lived in New York how long?
Three years.
And how often have you seen Jeffrey during that time?
The judge must have been a prosecutor before his years on the bench. His questions went right to the heart of her relationship with her brother.
He was in Iraq when I moved away. Then he was injured and they sent him to Walter Reid Hospital in Washington. I tried to visit him every weekend while he was there. Two years ago when he was released from the hospital, I came back here to help him get settled. And then the visit in October.
So, you have seen him just once over the past two years.
Tracy muffled a groan. That sounded so cold, as though her family didn’t count for much in her life. But we talked by phone a lot and e-mailed several times a week.
The judge took a new tack. What is your financial situation? Are you living on your savings now?
Did the good judge think she wanted Jeff’s money for herself? He obviously didn’t have a very high opinion of her.
No, I don’t really have an
y money saved. The cost of living in New York is very high. I had a good job, but I wasn’t able to put anything aside. I took classes at NYU. Most of my salary went for tuition and books. But I’m starting a new job Sunday at Fisherman’s Landing.
The judge seemed to be mulling over her response. I understand you are in trouble with the police in New York City.
She had been expecting that question since he walked in the door. Would the judge call Diaz? The detective would convince him that she was guilty. This was becoming a losing battle. The police think I was involved in a theft, but that’s not true. If they caught the real thief, I could prove my innocence.
I believe you had another encounter with the law when you were in high school?
Not that again. But she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t tell a lie without blushing and stumbling over the knots in her tongue.
I was accused of shoplifting, but honestly, Judge Whitby, I did not steal anything. I would never do that.
The judge didn’t appear impressed. I’ve heard some other rumors about your past.
She lifted her chin. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but there’s nothing to those rumors. She wanted to explain why Keith had spread those lies about her shady past, but what good would that do? It was just her word against Keith’s—the shoplifter vs. the state representative.
The judge sat there for a long moment, apparently sizing her up. She looked him squarely in the eye, hoping he could read the truth.
I think that’s all for today, he announced, getting to his feet. I’ll be talking to a few people here in town. Thank you for meeting with me.
Tracy saw him to the door. As he walked to his car, a dismal thought settled over her like a heavy fog. She heaved a long sigh. If I were the investigator, I wouldn’t trust me either.
More than Great Riches
CHAPTER VIII
From his place in the choir loft, Leif looked out over the congregation. Easter - his favorite day of the year. Lilies covered every inch of space around the altar, and Tracy was singing his favorite Easter song, The Holy City. Her silvery, sweet voice soared to the rafters of the old church. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your voice and sing.
The glorious sound surged through him, raising goose bumps on his arms. He watched the rapt faces of the members, realizing that they were all touched by her too.
With the last note came a hushed silence and then a spontaneous outburst of applause. Tracy glowed as she went back to her seat with the other sopranos.
Leif spied Keith Bradford in his pew in the second row, brimming with self-importance as he joined in the applause. Irritation - or jealousy - gnawed at him as he remembered that Bradford had been at Tracy’s house the evening he stopped by to pick her up for choir practice. Something about Bradford’s cloying charm raised his hackles.
Tracy’s cheeks were on fire when she came to the door that evening. She said something about an auto insurance policy, while Bradford fixed his tie and tucked in his shirt. That must have been quite a discussion they were having. Something was going on with those two.
Leif closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Lord, I could use a little help here. I think I’m falling for this woman and I don’t even trust her. There are too many arrows pointing in the wrong direction. Lord, you know I’ve been burned before. I let a woman make a fool of me, giving me the come-on while she set me up for her lover. I need to know the truth about Tracy. Is she as innocent as she seems or is she just another beautiful con artist?
Leif couldn’t erase the memory of Crystal’s betrayal. His knee was a constant reminder that she had led him into a trap. He met Crystal Rivers while working undercover, gathering evidence to bring down drug kingpin, Chase Martinez.
Crystal came to the station house insisting she had information for the detective on the Martinez case. When they arranged to meet, Crystal told him her sister Mara was involved with Martinez, and she wanted to help bring him down. Crystal was an exotic beauty and an outrageous flirt, but he was dumb enough to be flattered by her obvious interest in him.
They began to meet regularly. Supposedly Crystal gleaned inside information about Martinez from her sister. Actually she fed him worthless bits of nothing. And then Crystal told him her sister was missing. She invited him to come to her apartment to search for clues to Mara’s whereabouts.
The alarms should have gone off when he entered the apartment building. It was a hovel, not the type of place you would expect to find a glamour queen like Crystal.
Martinez was lying in wait for him. The minute Crystal opened the door to the apartment, Martinez fired. In spite of the agonizing pain in his knee, Leif fired back, hitting Martinez in the shoulder. When Martinez dropped his gun, Crystal tried to flee, but Leif slammed the door. He held them both at gunpoint while he radioed for assistance.
His only comfort now was that they were both behind bars for a long time to come. The courts did not take kindly to people who shot at cops.
But Tracy was not another Crystal. Instead of fawning over him, Tracy actually tried to avoid him.
He barely focused on the rest of the service. He would just have to trust God to show him the way before he fell into another trap. His first mistake had only cost him his knee. This time it could cost him his heart.
The choir room was crowded after the service as the members hung up their robes and put their music away. Everyone congratulated Tracy on her solo.
That was fabulous.
I could listen to you sing all day.
You made me cry.
Tracy looked overwhelmed by the attention, but she gave everyone her 500-watt smile. Leif watched fascinated. Whenever she smiled, a funny little hole popped into her cheek. He could have picked her up and kissed her right there in front of the whole choir.
Cool it, Ericson, he told himself.
Tracy, are you really going to start a handbell choir? one of the women asked.
Tracy looked hesitant. I’m thinking about it. Rev. Jim said we have a five octave set of bells that someone donated years ago, but they’ve been sitting in the storage room ever since.
Go for it, another member chimed in. I’d love to play handbells.
Leif stood listening to the chatter when he felt someone clasp his arm. He looked down to see Sheila Dunn gazing dreamily into his eyes. No wonder Tracy thought this woman was his wife.
He edged his way through the crowd, ignoring the fact that Sheila was still firmly attached to him. Tracy, your song was beautiful. Somehow the words weren’t adequate to express how deeply the song had affected him.
But she smiled gratefully. Thank you, Leif. That’s my very favorite song.
What time should I pick you up for work? He tried to disregard the disapproving sniff from Sheila.
Tracy gave Sheila a curious glance. I have to be there at four. I think three-fifteen should give us plenty of time.
Three-fifteen it is.
Thanks so much, Leif. I’ll see you then, but I have to run now. Maggie’s waiting for me.
Leif stood silent, his gaze following Tracy as she turned to the door. He felt Sheila tugging at his arm. He looked down to see her adoring gaze had become a disgruntled frown. I don’t understand you, Leif, making such a fuss over that woman. And why does Rev. Edwards let her in the door? Everyone knows she’s a disgrace to this town.
Leif managed to escape Sheila’s grasp as he removed his choir robe. He didn’t feel the need to respond to her comments. If everyone knew Tracy was a disgrace, everyone didn’t include Leif Ericson.
That New York detective, Diaz, had told him to keep an eye on Tracy in case Rick Timmons paid her a visit. He had done a thorough job of watching her, maybe too thorough, but so far there was no sign of a mysterious stranger. Still, he had to admit that watching Tracy Dixon was not a hardship.
****
Tracy studied her appearance in her mother’s old cheval glass. The restaurant’s pale blue uniform with white piping was attractive. She was really looking for
ward to this evening. She enjoyed waitress work, and it would be a relief to have money trickling in instead of pouring out.
Waiting on tables had paid her way through three years of college, but her flight to New York sent her plans off on a detour. Even counting her evening classes at NYU, she still needed a full semester’s credits to finish her final year and earn her degree in music.
Excitement bubbled up inside. You can do it, she told her reflection. Save enough money this summer, and you can enroll at Bridgewater for the fall semester. That degree will be in your hot little hand by the end of the year.