Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  By the time she reached them, Daniel’s muddy shirt was on the ground, and he was swamped in Jake’s sweatshirt. Without even asking, Jake hoisted Daniel into his arms, wrapping the boy’s legs around his waist and started toward the school with large strides. Daniel didn’t make a peep.

  Keira put her hands out to take the child from Jake. “No, I’ve got him. He’s heavy. He’s okay.”

  Miraculously, Daniel was okay. Normally, he did not allow anyone but her to touch him, and sometimes not even her, but he nestled his face into Jake’s shoulder as if it belonged there.

  “Why’d you give him your shirt?” Her eye was drawn to Jake’s physique. Why was she even noticing such a thing when her child had just been in peril?

  “He’d fallen into the water. His shirt was soaked, and he was shivering.” He didn’t stop at the school but went straight to his car.

  “Damn, I don’t have a car seat.”

  “My car’s here. You picked me up to go shopping after I dropped Daniel off.”

  Jake snuggled the child, while his mom patted his hair and talked softly to him as they strode to her car. Amazing how her whole demeanor could change when interacting with her son. Her warmth for him was in stark contrast to the daggers she shot at the school people trailing them.

  Once Daniel was secured in his seat, Keira remembered her manners. “Thanks. I mean it. Thank you for finding him.” She got behind the wheel. “We’ll see you around.”

  “You’ll see me in about five minutes. I’ll meet you at your place.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I will see you home and make sure that Daniel is all right.”

  Keira protested into the air as Jake was almost back at his own car. What? Did the guy think that she couldn’t take care of her own son?

  As she drove, the loop running through her mind was that she’d been right all along. She needed to keep her son by her side.

  Back at home, once freed from his car seat, Daniel looked past his mom and held out his arms. Jake stepped in front of her, lifted Daniel and carried him to the front door.

  Keira stood, watching a scene she never thought would take place. Daniel went to someone before her. A part of her recognized that she was hurt and even jealous, while a different part, the part that tried to be grown-up, knew that her son had taken a big stride today. Not that running away was okay, but that he trusted someone. His world was expanding.

  Keira grudgingly invited Jake to stay for supper since it didn’t look like he intended to budge.

  As she tucked her son into bed and prepared to read him a story, Daniel held out his hand to the man leaning against the doorway. He took the book from his mom and offered it to Jake. With a grin, Jake angled his long, lean body beside Daniel’s pillow, effectively nudging Keira out of the way and began to read chapter three of Winnie the Pooh.

  Keira stood guard until she saw Daniel nestle his body into Jake’s side. It crossed her mind that maybe she wasn’t just envious of Jake right now, but of Daniel. Maybe she wouldn’t mind snuggling with this particular man either.

  After a sleepless night of worry and planning her offensive, Keira was prepared. These people had lost her son!

  The administrator started with their apologies and how badly they felt, but Keira cut her off. She let them know just how incompetent they were.

  Ms. Robinson went from sympathetic, to neutral to angry. She stood; the fire in her eyes matched Keira’s own. “If you think any of us had any more sleep last night than you did, then you don’t know us at all. We’re sick, just sick about what happened. We do care and take your trust seriously. I know this is not the first time Daniel has wandered off.” She held up her hand as Keira’s mouth opened. “It can happen to any of us as parents and it has. To me.”

  “This isn’t the first time Daniel has tried to leave our classroom, or the school. We’ve been working on things to help him keep calm and not flee when he’s upset.”

  “What? Why didn’t you call me if you were having trouble with him? You should have told me he was causing problems.”

  Glancing over where Daniel seemed absorbed in his puzzles, Ms. Robinson lowered her voice. “Daniel was not causing problems, and he is not a problem. He needs to acquire some skills. He’s learning, and it’s getting better for the most part.”

  She said, “You’re scared, and your worry is coming out as anger. We’re not the enemy. We want to work with you. Fighting everyone isn’t going to help. What we need is a plan. We want to prevent this from happening again, and we want to teach Daniel strategies that will prevent him from wandering.”

  She sat down. “Will you work with us?”

  Keira had nothing to say. That was a rarity. They’d been having trouble with Daniel but hadn’t kicked him out? Hadn’t complained to her about how hard her kid was to handle? Maybe Jake was right and her attitude did need an adjustment. Okay, she’d maybe give them a chance.

  For now.

  She listened to what they’d been working on in the classroom, the signs and visuals they were using with Daniel. Maybe this “team” thing could work.

  Then it went south when Ms. Robinson brought out some signs that Keira could use at home. “I manage my son just fine at home.” Her frosty tone shut down that discussion.

  Chapter 6

  After collecting Daniel from school and making lunch, Keira had too much pent-up energy to concentrate on the small screen of her laptop. When upset, Keira cleaned. The place was not up to her usual standards; she’d spent too many mornings either working or increasingly, hanging out with Jake on his days off or when his shift left him free while Daniel was in school. She didn’t want to think too much about that.

  Music helped with cleaning sprees. The dishwasher ran, the washing machine agitated, clothes thumped in the dryer as she ran the vacuum over the living room floor.

  She didn’t hear the patio door slide open, nor notice the small body enter the backyard, and then go into the back alley.

  Now that the kitchen floor gleamed and two loads of laundry had been put away, Keira noticed the time. Yikes. She needed to get supper going. Wonder what Daniel wants. “Daniel.” No answer. She went to find him.

  Not in his room, and he wasn’t watching television. She searched every favorite hiding place he’d ever used in the house, calling at the same time. Then she noticed that the patio door was open a few inches. Tearing into the backyard, her rapid gaze told her he wasn’t there. In seconds, she raced up one side of the street, then back home and down the other way, screaming his name all the while.

  Neighbors came out of their homes. She didn’t really know any of them; she and Daniel kept to themselves. At first too frantic to answer their queries, she realized she could use their help. People organized themselves to search the yards on the block. One woman said she’d call the police. Keira told her to ask for Jake. Then she thought no, she should call him herself.

  In minutes a siren rapidly sounded closer. Then another one and another. Keira turned to battle them, but Jake was calling dispatch, telling them to turn off the noise, that it would frighten the child. Then he turned to her. “Remember? You’re not alone. These people are here to help you. Let me do my job and you can do what you do best - understand your son.” He intercepted the officers and took control, giving them Daniel’s description explaining that he could hear but not speak.

  Chapter 7

  Keira allowed herself to lean on Jake, just partly - enough to let him arrange the search and to have searchers listen as Keira told them how to approach Daniel. She allowed Jake to take her hand; her fingers clung to him.

  The calming cadence of Jake’s voice helped slow Keira’s racing heart. He’s doing that on purpose, she thought. She felt her rational mind returning, the one that had been driven out by blind panic as dusk approached.

  It twigged. Daniel rocking back and forth, humming earlier that afternoon. It wasn’t an idle tune. He was actually humming a song she’d sung to him
while she and Jake pushed him on the swing at the park across the street and around the block. Tugging Jake’s hand, she followed her instincts.

  They heard the creak of the swing’s chains before they saw him. One tiny body twisting in circles as he wound the swing first one way let it whirl back, then the other way and humming. Daniel looked up; his smile angelic. “Mommy! Push.”

  Torn between rewarding the child with a swing ride after he’d left the house on his own, needing to squeeze him tight in relief and rejoicing in his first words, Keira was a mess.

  Jake pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, positioned them both in front of the child, and, placing Keira’s hands on the chains, began to push the swing.

  When Keira felt that she had herself under control, she told Daniel it was time to go home and get something to eat. He hopped off the swing willingly, but after a few steps, he raised his arms to Jake to be carried.

  After it being just the two of them for so long, was there room in their lives for a third person? Daniel seemed to think so.

  The sounds of a drill and pounding resounded in her backyard all morning, along with smaller tap, taps. Daniel and Jake were erecting not just any swing set, but a little boy’s dream. While just the swings were going up today (as the most necessary part), there would be a climbing wall, a high fort, a slide and a sand box. Some of it looked too dangerous for a four-year-old, but Jake and Daniel went ahead with their plans.

  There were now signs on the exterior doors, reminding Daniel to check with his mom before going outside. At night, there were alarms to alert Keira if a door opened. Every time Jake came over (and that was often), he practiced with Daniel strategies to use when he got upset.

  Then, when Daniel went to bed, it was just Keira and Jake. She was letting go. In a way, it was a relief to not have to be in control all the time, to be the only responsible one. Sometimes it was nice to just sit back and let someone else take over. Oh, of course not in important things; Keira was still and always would be her own woman, but maybe, she could be part of a team, a couple. She nestled her head against Jake’s chest where it seemed to think it belonged.

  About Dr. Sharon Mitchell

  Dr. Sharon Mitchell has two passions - writing and kids who learn differently. Well, four passions actually - her family and also their family farm.

  When it comes to autism and those whose brains are uniquely wired, she gets it. She's been a teacher, counselor, school psychologist, district consultant, and autism consultant for decades. She has presented to thousands at conferences and workshops. She teaches university classes to wanna-be-teachers and to school administrators on inclusion strategies and students who learn differently.

  Apart from this short story, she’s written two nonfiction books on autism and five novels about autistic kids. Romance creeps into all of the novels because, well, isn’t that what life’s about?

  Check out her website.

  Also by Dr. Sharon A. Mitchell

  Autism Goes to School

  Autism Grows Up

  Autism Belongs

  Autism Runs Away

  Autism Talks and Talks

  Autism Questions Parents Ask

  Autism Questions Teachers Ask

  Trisha’s Dream by Ana Morgan

  Chapter 1

  The aroma of meat sizzling on a grill greeted Trisha Kane as she stepped out of her hometown’s funeral chapel. Across the street in Centennial Park, Homemaker’s Club members hosted a wake with platters of food on cloth-covered tables in the pavilion. Children frolicked on a sprawling playground set replete with slides, a rock-climbing wall, and a clatter bridge.

  The sight would have pleased Emilia Kane, the woman who’d raised her. The spontaneous tributes celebrating her life? Not so much. Nana often said, Chickens don’t praise their own soup.

  Nana believed in giving. After selling the hardware store she’d run for forty years, she shelved books at the Stevensville library, helped kindergartners and adults learn to read, and joined a dozen community organizations.

  A small army of volunteers would be needed to replace her, but Trisha wouldn’t be one. Nana ended her will with one final instruction: Don’t ever give up on your dream.

  Trisha squared her shoulders. As soon as she readied her grandmother’s house for sale, she’d fly back to Brooklyn and keep working toward being a professional photographer.

  She scanned the bustling park again and prepared to mingle with her grandmother’s friends and neighbors one last time.

  “Hello, Trish,” a deep voice said behind her.

  Trisha gritted her teeth.

  Only one person called her Trish. Dalton West, the banker’s son. State champion distance runner. The senior prom date who’d kissed her passionately until she left for art school, then proposed to Vanessa Kennedy.

  Drawing a deep breath, Trisha turned and gasped.

  Dalton wore the string tie she’d given him on his eighteenth birthday.

  His trim physique confirmed Nana’s newsy gossip that he ran laps around the school track at dawn every morning. That boyish lock of dark hair still curled over his forehead, but the rest of him had matured into a man with a sexy five o’clock shadow. Gold still flecked his hazel eyes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “Emilia will be missed.”

  She tore her gaze from his handsome face and forced herself to be civil. “Thank you. She was an amazing woman.”

  “More like a force of nature.” He chuckled. “The morning after my promotion from teller to loan officer, she marched into my office with a congratulatory plant and demanded that I match the donations she intended to collect for the park’s swing sets.” He gestured toward the crowded pavilion. “Everyone’s expecting you.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay if we walk together?”

  It wasn’t, but she couldn’t think of a polite excuse. “All right.”

  Her arm accidentally brushed against his as they crossed the street. Concerned he might misinterpret the touch as a sign she’d forgiven him, she veered around the Centennial Park sign.

  He met up with her on the other side. “How’s life in New York City?”

  “Busy.” He didn’t need to know she worked eleven-hour shifts to earn an employee discount on camera equipment. Or that her photograph of graffiti on a construction barrier finished fourth in the Subway Shopper’s Photo Fling.

  “I’m sure your pictures sell at that market you attend every Saturday,” he continued.

  She bristled. She’d emailed photos of the Brooklyn Flea to her grandmother. They were supposed to be private, not fodder for hometown chatter.

  Dalton led her to the first table under the pavilion and handed her a set of plastic utensils neatly wrapped in a paper napkin.

  Her favorite high school teacher immediately offered her a plate already loaded with a grilled brat in a bun. Mr. Bergstrom had fostered her passion for photography and wrote a glowing recommendation for her art school application.

  “It’s wonderful to see you, Trisha,” he said. “I enjoyed your snapshot of the trees greening in Central Park. Well done.”

  “Thank you.” His praise warmed her. Maybe her grandmother’s sharing wasn’t so bad.

  He gestured toward the next table. Long-handled spoons jutted out of colorful bowls of macaroni, potato, and Jello salads. “Mrs. Baker is hoping you’ll stop by and visit.”

  Trisha hesitated. The stern librarian patrolling the next buffet table had fined her repeatedly for not returning the library’s hardcover copy of Concepts of Photography on time.

  Dalton tapped Trisha’s arm and murmured, “You’re holding up the line.”

  She raised her chin and side-stepped to the next table. “Hello, Mrs. Baker.”

  The librarian reached out and squeezed her hand. “If you need anything, dear, anything at all, please ask.” She heaped an assortment of salads onto Trisha’s plate.

  “Th-thank you,” Trisha stammered, surprised by the
affability in Mrs. Baker’s voice and the piles of food now on her plate. “I will.”

  As she filed past the dessert table, Nana’s new next-door neighbor, Mr. Niemeyer, reminded her he’d be over tomorrow to mow the lawn.

  White-haired Paulette Hawley pressed a cup of lemonade into her hand. “You’re moving back,” she stated loudly. “Stevensville needs young people like you.”

  Trisha smiled and nodded. Nana’s elderly friend had obviously misplaced her hearing aids again.

  Dorothea Carter marched up and stopped, as she always did, with her pug nose mere inches away from Trisha’s chin. “The Friendly Squares are short a dancer on Tuesday nights.”

  “Thank you for telling me.” Trisha turned, intending to step around her, only to be blocked by the Taylor sisters. Both grinned like expectant aunts.

  More well-wishers clustered around, eagerly celebrating Paulette’s announcement of her homecoming. Someone bumped her arm. Her overfilled plate tipped toward her blouse.

  Trisha knew what to expect from crowds in the city. Subway jostles were routine and impersonal.

  This was different. She’d grown up around the people surrounding her now. She knew they meant well and weren’t trying to be rude, but she had moved on. As soon as she won a high-profile photography contest, her career would take off. Her prints would sell in galleries, not on card tables under a pop-up tent. She’d travel to exotic locations and someday publish a book.