by Judy Duarte
Her smile fell, and she stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “Sure, what’s up?”
“I’d like to pick up a Christmas tree for you and the kids.”
“That’s nice of you, but…”
“The kids need a tree, Jillian. It’ll be my treat.”
Her expression seemed to lighten, so he reached into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, peeled out two hundred-dollar bills, and handed them to her. “I want you to take this and pick up a few gifts for them—from you. And then buy anything else you need for Christmas dinner—ham, turkey, whatever.”
“I can’t accept this, Mac.” She tried to hand the money back, but he wouldn’t take it.
“It’s my Christmas gift to you. And if you have a major problem with that, then consider it a loan until your ex-husband comes through with the child support.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“A simple thank-you works for me.”
She folded the bills together, clutching them in her hand, and her gaze sought his. He was usually pretty good at reading between the lines, but in this case, he was afraid to. She looked too appreciative, too touched, too…
He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what. If you want to go shopping now, I can keep an eye on the kids while you’re gone. Or you can go later. It’s your call.”
She didn’t respond right away, and about the time he wondered if she would, she relented. “You’re right. The kids deserve to have a nice Christmas. And I’ll consider this money a loan.”
He’d kind of hoped she’d take it as a gift, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “While I was in Ray’s attic, I found a box of decorations I won’t need, so I’ll bring them over for you to use—if you want them.”
She started to lift her arms, and for a moment, he thought she was going to hug him. But she brushed her hands along the fabric of her slacks and crossed her arms instead. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mac.”
“There isn’t any need to.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, then nodded at the door. “Come on. Let’s go tell the kids you have a few errands to run and that I’m going to watch them while you do it.”
Ten minutes later, Jillian had done just as he’d suggested and had driven off. Mac hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in volunteering to babysit. He didn’t know much about kids, although he figured the most important thing was keeping them safe while she was gone.
Tommy appeared to be pleased about the setup, but Megan, with her blond hair pulled back in pigtails, pursed her lips together, then took the dog out into the backyard. Mac couldn’t be sure, but he had a feeling she somehow blamed him for her parents’ breakup.
“Hey!” Tommy, who’d dragged a soccer ball from his bedroom, tossed Mac a grin. “Do you want to come outside and play?”
Now that Mac was an adult, playing soccer with a kid was definitely a first, but he returned the boy’s smile and said, “Sure. Why not?”
Tommy led the way through the kitchen and out to the yard, where Megan stood in the shade of an elm tree with Princess Leia.
Or was the little dog actually Bobbie Sue?
Mac wasn’t sure, but it was certainly possible. He again realized that telling Charlie about the similarities was the right thing to do, but he wasn’t in any big hurry to do that. Nor was he ready to have a chat with the kids about something that was sure to upset them.
He supposed, if the dog turned out to be Bobbie Sue, he could always beg Charlie to let the kids keep her, but who knew what the old man would say to that?
As Tommy dribbled the ball with his feet, Mac said, “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think anyone stole Mr. Iverson’s angel.”
Tommy stopped the ball with his foot. “You don’t?”
“Nope. I think what really happened is that someone broke it and hid the pieces.”
“No kidding?” Tommy kicked the ball to Mac. “How come you think that?”
“I found some small chunks of gold ceramic in Charlie’s yard.”
“Who do you think broke it?” Tommy asked.
“I don’t know for sure.” Using the side of his foot, Mac kicked the ball back to the boy. “Did you break it?”
“Me?” The boy slapped his hands on his hips, letting the ball slip right past him. “Heck, no. I didn’t even touch it.”
“Are you sure? Not even accidentally?”
“No. Don’t you believe me?”
Mac studied the boy’s expression, his eyes blazing with indignation and his chin lifted in defiance.
Truthfully? He didn’t appear to be lying.
“Do you know anyone who might want it to look like you broke that angel?” Mac asked.
“No, I don’t think so. There’s a kid who lives down the street, and his name is Danny. He said hi to me once, but he doesn’t know me good enough to like me or hate me. Oh, and there was a homeless guy who was hanging out by the fire hydrant once, but he was pretty cool.”
A homeless guy? Mac’s thoughts drifted to Jesse, to the image he’d imagined seeing last night. But he shook it off as coincidence, even though Sugar Plum Lane was a long way from where any of the homeless tended to gather.
They kicked the ball around in silence for a while, and Mac decided to drop the subject. He really wanted to connect with Jillian’s son, but he had a feeling any further questioning was going to backfire if he wasn’t careful.
His gaze drifted to Megan, who was still playing with the dog, her back to Mac and Tommy. Did she know anything about the broken angel?
He supposed she might, but he wasn’t sure if he should quiz her. She’d withdrawn since yesterday afternoon, and he was afraid she thought he was trying to take the place of her father. For that reason, he figured it was best to let Jillian talk to her.
As Megan wandered to the very back of the yard, near the rose garden that had been pruned for the winter, the dog trotted behind her. Mac focused on the soccer ball and on making friends with Tommy.
Several minutes later, he heard a thump, a shriek, and a howl.
He looked up to see Megan sprawled over a rose bush.
Oh, no. Mac dashed toward her, hoping she hadn’t been hurt too badly. So much for thinking he would make a competent babysitter. Jillian would probably never leave the kids with him again, which was wise on her part. And maybe he ought to be grateful for that.
He lifted the screaming child from the sharply cut, thorny branches, trying to avoid hurting her any more than she already was, and placed her feet on the ground. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Nooo!” She screamed, leaning into him.
He checked her carefully, noting a nasty scratch across her cheek and down one arm. She raised her blouse and showed him a red, raw scrape on her tummy.
“Come on, Megan.” He picked her up and held her close. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”
“I want my mommy,” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I know you do. She’ll be back soon.” At least, he hoped so. He might have had first aid training, but he was way out of his league when it came to dishing out TLC.
As they crossed the lawn, he asked, “What happened?”
“I was running and tripped on a rock and fell in the thorns and pokers. And it hurts really, really bad!”
Mac carried her into the house and to the bathroom, where he sat her on the counter. Next he turned on the water and searched the drawers for a washcloth.
“I’ll get the medicine and the Band-Aids,” Tommy said from the doorway. “They’re in my mom’s bathroom.”
“Thanks.” Mac’s heart was pounding a mile a minute as he tried his best to doctor the little girl.
She really wasn’t hurt too badly. The fall, he suspected, had frightened her more than anything. Still, the scratch on her face announced that she’d been wounded on Mac’s watch.
Great.
After cleaning t
he wounds with an antibacterial soap and water, Mac dabbed them dry and applied a salve. “Is that a little better?”
She nodded.
“I guess I’m not a very good babysitter,” he said.
“Sure you are,” Tommy argued. “Who could be a better babysitter than a policeman? Besides, you knew just what to do when Meggie got hurt.”
Oh, yeah? Mac was a novice at this sort of thing, but he didn’t see any point in setting the boy straight.
Of course, he’d done a better job of it than his old man had done. Whenever Mac had been injured as a child, he’d known better than to complain. “Just rub a little dirt on it,” Jim Maguire used to say. “That’ll toughen you up.”
Mac was lucky he never followed those instructions. He might have gotten blood poisoning or something.
He let out a sigh, glad the girl had finally stopped crying.
“Why don’t we go watch some TV?” he suggested. An indoor activity would ensure that no one else got hurt before Jillian returned.
When the kids seemed to accept the new game plan, Mac scooped Megan into his arms and carried her downstairs.
Hey, if she wanted to milk it, he was okay with that.
“Thank you for fixing me,” she said.
“No problem.” He tossed her a grin. “That’s what friends are for.”
She seemed to think about that for a bit, then smiled. “Are we really friends?”
“Sure we are.”
As he set her on the sofa, she looked up at him with eyes that were every bit as expressive as her mother’s. “Can I ask you a question, Mac?”
“Of course.”
“Do you always put people in jail?” she asked. “Even kids?”
Was she afraid of him? “I only arrest adults who’ve broken the law. There are special courts that deal with children who get into serious trouble. Why do you ask?”
“You don’t put kids in jail?”
“Nope.” He couldn’t see any need to explain the intricacies of juvenile incarceration.
She nibbled on her bottom lip, then glanced up at him, those eyes so much like her mom’s threatening to make a tough guy soft. “What happens when kids do bad things?”
“Usually their parents take care of the situation. The police don’t get called in unless the kids do something really bad.”
“Like breaking something on accident?” she asked.
Uh-oh. Was Mac about to hear a confession?
“When kids break things, their moms and dads handle that.” He pulled lightly on her pigtail and offered her a gentle smile. “But I think, when it’s an accident, most parents would understand and go easy on the child.”
Her green eyes, expressive like her mommy’s, glistened with emotion. “Even when it’s something that belongs to someone else? Something they weren’t supposed to touch?”
“Accidents happen, Megan. Did you break something?”
The tears that had been welling in her eyes overflowed onto her cheeks. “It was an accident, Mac. Don’t put me in jail. Please!”
“No one is going to put you in jail, honey. I won’t let them.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly squeezing the heart right out of him. “I didn’t mean to do it, Mac. I touched Mr. Iverson’s angel, and it fell over all by itself. And the arm broke off. And the halo, too. I was so scared he was going to get mad at me and hit me with his cane, like he said he was going to do to Tommy. So I picked up all the pieces and hid them so no one could find them.”
“Where’d you hide the angel?” he asked. “I’d like to see it. I might be able to fix it and put it back where it belongs.”
“Really?” She loosened her hold to search his face for sincerity.
He tapped his finger on the tip of her lightly freckled nose. “I haven’t seen it yet, but even if it’s as badly broken as Humpty Dumpty, I’ll figure out a way to fix this whole mess for you. Okay?”
Her smile lit up her face, and she wrapped her arms around his neck again. “When I heard you were a policeman and you were Mr. Iverson’s friend, I thought you would take me to jail.”
“Nothing doing, sweetheart.” Mac held her close.
“You’re the best police in the whole, wide world.”
Mac didn’t know about that. But he sure liked having this little girl think so.
Chapter Eleven
The next day, Jillian stood beside the kitchen table and studied the broken ceramic figurine she and Mac had painstakingly repaired. Rather than return the angel broken, they’d decided to take it back to Mr. Iverson in one piece, although at one point, she hadn’t been sure that would be possible.
Yesterday, they’d had trouble getting the pieces to attach properly, but the new glue Mac had purchased earlier today had worked much better than they’d expected. A little putty had filled in the gaps and holes, so if their luck held, they would be able to return the angel to Mr. Iverson before heading to Mulberry Park for Christmas Under the Stars.
“I think it looks pretty good,” Mac said as he surveyed their handiwork.
The paint was chipped and cracked in numerous places, but they’d left those spots alone. Instead, they’d only tried to match the white, gold, and flesh color to cover the putty and the places where they’d glued the arm and halo back together.
Tommy tiptoed and craned his neck to assess the angel. “You can’t even see the broken lines anymore. That glue and paint you bought worked really good.”
Jillian had no idea what Mr. Iverson would say when they returned his angel, but they’d done their best to repair the damage. She’d also made a batch of sugar cookies this morning—stars, bells, and Christmas trees—that she and the kids had frosted and decorated with candy sprinkles. She hoped their elderly neighbor would accept the platter of cookies as a peace offering, along with their apologies.
Megan, who was kneeling on the seat of her chair and resting her elbows on the kitchen table, had closely watched their attempts to glue the angel back together. “Do I have to go with you when you take it back to Mr. Iverson? I’m scared. I don’t want him to get mad at me.”
Mac placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Sometimes it’s hard to do the right thing, Megan. But if it makes you feel better, your mom, your brother, and I will be right there with you.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, “and Mac won’t let Mr. Iverson yell at you or anything.”
“That’s right.” Mac glanced at Jillian and winked.
What had she done to deserve a man like him? Not that she had him by any means. It’s just that they’d somehow become a team in the past couple of days.
Of course, they hadn’t even broached the subject of how or even if he was going to fit into their lives. He’d just seemed to slide right in, as though he’d always belonged. And for the first time in ages, she was actually looking forward to Christmas.
Thanks to Mac’s efforts, a fully decorated noble fir sat in the living room, surrounded by ten or twelve wrapped gifts. Lights adorned their front yard now, even though their decorations weren’t anywhere near as elaborate as those of most of the other neighbors.
In spite of the comments he’d made about his inexperience with kids, Mac had proven to be wonderful with hers. He might not have had a paternal role model growing up, but he was a natural. In fact, he was everything she’d ever wanted in a father for her children.
He was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband, too.
The kiss they’d shared the night before last had turned her knees to Jell-O, just as all of his kisses had once done to her. But interestingly enough, they seemed to be pretending it hadn’t happened, and neither of them had dared to mention it again.
Too bad, she thought, as she stole an appreciative glance at Mac. She’d love to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him again, although she wasn’t sure how to orchestrate something like that without being obvious.
“There’s something else we probably ought to discuss,” Mac said, sobering and stepp
ing away from the table.
Tommy perked up, as he was prone to do each time Mac spoke. “What’s that?”
“Do you remember that picture Mr. Iverson showed you of his wife?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah, she was holding a dog that looked a lot like Princess Leia.”
“Do you remember what he said happened to his dog?” Mac asked.
“It ran away after Mrs. Iverson died.”
Mac appeared to study the statue, and Jillian studied Mac.
“Remember the day we brought the dog home from the park?” he asked both kids.
“She was all dirty,” Megan said. “And we had to give her a bath.”
“Yep. And that very first day, when we set her down in your front yard, she dashed off to Mr. Iverson’s house. She did the same thing when she got out later that day.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “So what?”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” Mac asked.
Jillian tensed. Uh-oh. Did Mac suspect the kids’ dog had once belonged to Mr. Iverson?
If that was true, their peacemaking efforts could blow sky high.
“You mean like the two dogs and the kitty in Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey?” Megan asked.
Mac glanced at Jillian, a question in his eyes.
“That’s the story of three lost pets that make their way home.”
“Yes,” Mac said. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
“But Princess Leia is our dog.” Megan sat up straight, although she still knelt in the seat of the chair. “Mommy said we could keep her.”
Jillian couldn’t voice the words. Mac was right, of course. If the dog belonged to Mr. Iverson, they’d have to return it to him.
Mac shifted his weight to one foot. “The only reason your mom told you that it was okay to keep that dog was because she thought it was a stray. She didn’t realize it might have an owner.”
“But Mr. Iverson was mean to her,” Tommy said. “Remember? He pushed her away and called her a mangy mutt.”
“You’ll find that things always work out for the best when you do the right thing,” Mac said, “even when doing the right thing hurts.”
“Maybe our dog only looks like his dog,” Megan said.