Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Handprints

Handprints
MYRNA TEMTE


I DON'T THINK EITHER ONE OF US GOT THIS OUT OF OUR SYSTEM….Jack Granger's reference to a few stolen kisses haunted Abby Walsh. For being with him and his daughter made her feel like a penniless kid with her nose pressed against the toy-store window. Everything she'd ever wanted was right in front of her, but still completely out of reach.Well, Abby could hardly complain; the man was only keeping his promise–keeping their relationship casual. Still, Abby felt a sexual thrill she couldn't ignore. And she'd caught enough heated glances and heard enough strangled sighs to suspect he was suffering as much frustration as she was. Phooey. She'd never been this attracted to anyone. Ever.But there was no future for them. End of story. Right?If only it were that simple….









Abby Walsh was the answer to their problems.


She was warm and nurturing and certainly knew a lot about children. She’d make a terrific mother for his daughter, Kitty, or any other child. All Jack had to do was marry her and his life finally would get back to at least a semblance of normal.

Yeah, that would work. Marry Abby. Solve Kitty’s problems. Solve his own problems and get a sexy wife in the bargain. Even if she did irritate him at times, there was no problem with physical attraction. Not on his part, anyway.

Jack didn’t think Abby was indifferent to him, either, though he couldn’t say whether that was his ego or his instincts talking. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. Subtly, of course. It might even be fun. What a concept.

He’d be so smooth and charming, Abby would never know what hit her!


Dear Reader,

It’s the little things that mean so much. In fact, more than once, “little things” have fueled Myrna Temte’s Special Edition novels. One of her miniseries evolved from a newspaper article her mother sent her. The idea for her first novel was inspired by something she’d heard a DJ say on her favorite country-western radio station. And Myrna Temte’s nineteenth book, Handprints, also evolved in an interesting way. A friend received a special Mother’s Day present—a picture of her little girl with finger-painted handprints and a sweet poem entitled “Handprints.” Once the story was relayed to Myrna, the seed for another romance novel was planted. And the rest, as they say, is history….

There are plenty of special somethings this month. Bestselling author Joan Elliott Pickart delivers Single with Twins, the story of a photojournalist who travels the world in search of adventure, only to discover that family makes his life complete. In Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Matt, the rugged rancher hero feels that law enforcement is no place for a lady—but soon finds himself making a plea for passion….

Don’t miss Laurie Paige’s When I See Your Face, in which a fiercely independent officer is forced to rely on others when she’s temporarily blinded in the line of duty. Find out if there will be a Match Made in Wyoming in Patricia McLinn’s novel, when the hero and heroine find themselves snowbound on a Wyoming ranch! And The Child She Always Wanted by Jennifer Mikels tells the touching tale of a baby on the doorstep bringing two people together for a love too great for either to deny.

Asking authors where they get their ideas often proves an impossible question. However, many ideas come from little things that surround us. See what’s around you. And if you have an idea for a Special Edition novel, I’d love to hear from you. Enjoy!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor




Handprints

Myrna Temte







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Many thanks to the following people for help with research for this book: Mary Buckham, Teresa Buddington, Brentwood Elementary School; Alison Colson, ASCW; Kathie Hayes, Chase Middle School; Rachel E. Sterett, Deputy Prosecuting Attorney; Laurie Summers, M.B.


This book is dedicated to the loving memory of Pepper, my furry little friend, dear companion and tireless dispenser of unconditional love. I hope you finally get to catch those evil squirrels in doggy heaven.




MYRNA TEMTE


grew up in Montana and attended college in Wyoming, where she met and married her husband. Marriage didn’t necessarily mean settling down for the Temtes—they have lived in six different states, including Washington, where they currently reside. Moving so much is difficult, the author says, but it is also wonderful stimulation for a writer.

Though always a “readaholic,” Myrna never dreamed of becoming an author. But while spending time at home to care for her first child, she began to seek an outlet from the never-ending duties of housekeeping and child rearing. She started reading romances and soon became hooked, both as a reader and a writer. Now Myrna appreciates the best of all possible worlds—a loving family and a challenging career that lets her set her own hours and turn her imagination loose.







HANDPRINTS

You like a shiny, tidy house,

And sometimes I do, too.

But I have lots of things to learn,

Like tying my own shoes.

I hurry to try this and that,

And often make a mess.

But gee, I always have such fun,

’Cause, Mommy, you’re the best.

You always love my pictures,

My mud pies are great art.

So please don’t clean these handprints up,

I made them for your heart.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue




Chapter One


Assistant County Prosecutor Jack Granger parked his dark blue sedan in the visitors’ lot at Mountain View Elementary School, muttering, “Why me and why today?” Rubbing the knotted muscles at the back of his neck, he racked his brain for any excuse to leave without seeing his daughter Kitty’s teacher. Unfortunately none existed.

It didn’t matter that it was 6:10 on a Thursday afternoon, or that he’d had a brutal day at work, or that he had a briefcase stuffed with case files he needed to read before morning. Kitty was his responsibility. When Ms. Walsh requested a conference, he felt obligated to be there.

Again. And again. And again.

Any normal teacher would have given up on him and gone home by now, but Ms. Walsh was hardly normal. She was the most frustrating individual he’d ever met; considering he worked in the criminal justice system, that said something about her. Okay, maybe that was too harsh—but having a rational discussion with her seemed about as likely as finding a completely reformed sex offender.

With Ms. Walsh, everything was about feelings, not facts. Jack would rather be locked up in a cell for an hour with an armed serial killer than have to figure out her thought processes. He wondered if even God knew where that touchy-feely little woman’s mind would go next.

To give Ms. Walsh her due, however, Jack admired her dedication to her students. If she said she’d wait until he arrived, she would do exactly that—even on a sunny afternoon in May. Even if she had to wait until midnight.

Resigning himself to another round of aggravation, he straightened his tie and got out of the car. He reached back inside for his suit coat, hesitating while he questioned the need for such formality. On second thought, when it came to dealing with Ms. Walsh, he needed all the formality he could get.

The last time he’d met with her, she’d nearly driven him crazy. With the constant barrage of permission forms, newsletters and requests for money for everything from lunch in the cafeteria to school photos, the paperwork for having one small child in a public school could keep a full-time secretary busy. He did the best he could, but it seemed that he was always missing something.

And then Ms. Walsh would have to point it out and he’d feel like an idiot. She jumped from topic to topic. Every so often she seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to and used a cheery, enthusiastic voice more suited to a first grader than an adult. Jeez. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. He didn’t know if he could take her today.

He thrust his arms into his jacket sleeves as he entered the building and strode down the corridor to Ms. Walsh’s classroom. He’d been here enough times to know the way by heart. He paused in the doorway. There she was, sitting behind her desk, using a pencil eraser to flip through a fat stack of papers.

If he hadn’t felt so exhausted, he probably would have chuckled. She was barely five feet tall, blond and cute, with her hair pulled back in a long, curly ponytail. He always thought she looked more like a little girl playing school than an adult, but that was only until she opened her mouth. For such a small person, Ms. Walsh had a large personality.

She looked up, stood and gave him a welcoming smile. He just knew she had to be faking. Yet he still found it appealing. And unsettling. Hell, he was losing his mind. Because the truly odd thing was, in spite of everything she did that bugged him to no end, there was a weird, possibly twisted part of him that actually liked this woman.

“Hello, Mr. Granger. Please, come in,” she said, waving him into the room. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice.”

Preferring to keep his contact with her purely professional, Jack squelched an urge to smile in return. Given half a chance, she’d probably start hugging and patting him the way she always did her students. Wishing she wasn’t so damn nice, he walked between the first two rows of tiny desks.

At six-foot-three he’d grown used to being taller than most people. But everything in the first-grade room was built for the convenience of six-year-old children. He always felt like an awkward giant whenever he had to come to the school.

She nodded at the visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, sit down.”

He gave the red, battle-scarred plastic chair a dubious glance before carefully lowering himself onto the seat. Ms. Walsh remained standing, and for a moment, she was at eye level with him. He’d never seen anyone with such dark green eyes before. The color of jade, they gazed directly into his, and he felt as if she could see right through him. Putting on his “court face,” he raised his eyebrows, silently demanding that she get to the point.

She sat on her own chair and laced her fingers together on top of the stack of papers, the expression in her eyes serious enough to boost his anxiety level. “Something happened with Kitty today.”

A burning sensation of dread invaded Jack’s stomach. The last time someone had said that phrase to him, he’d lost Gina. Kitty was all he had left now. She was the very best part of his life, and something had happened to her? No. Oh, please, God, no.

He wanted to lunge to his feet and demand an explanation, but he’d learned the hard way that excessive displays of emotion created problems rather than solving them. It took every bit of his willpower to remain seated, ignore the screaming in his head and unclench his jaw enough to speak. “Is she all right? What happened? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

Despite his effort to hide it, his voice must have given his anxiety away. Ms. Walsh raised her hands, palms out, patting the air in a calming gesture. “It wasn’t that kind of an emergency, Mr. Granger. Kitty’s fine physically. Her emotional state is another matter.”

That was it? Ms. Walsh had made his whole world shudder and it was just this touchy-feely emotional crud again? He should have pretended he hadn’t received her message and stayed at work. But he was here now, and he knew Ms. Walsh would not let the issue rest until she’d gotten it out of her system. He might as well hear her out.

He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “What’s wrong with Kitty’s emotional state?”

Ms. Walsh raised her chin as if she knew he wasn’t going to take her concerns seriously. “She’s still having problems here at school. We’ve discussed this before.”

Dizzy with relief and irritated at the same time, Jack repeated her standard lecture about his daughter. “Right. She’s too quiet and withdrawn, she doesn’t pay attention in class and I need to spend more time with her. I got all of that the last time I was here, and we’ve done every single thing you’ve said to do. What happened today?”

“We made Mother’s Day gifts.”

Anger roared through him, and he felt a muscle twitch on the side of his jaw. Damn, he should have remembered how close Mother’s Day was. But of all the insensitive stunts for a teacher to pull…. “And you’re surprised that caused a problem? For Pete’s sake, what did you expect?” he demanded. “Her mother is dead.”

Ms. Walsh’s cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes glinted with temper, but her voice remained commendably calm. “I’m aware of that. She’s not my only student who’s missing a parent. I always provide an alternative activity for children who are in that position, but Kitty chose to make the Mother’s Day gift.”

“She did?”

Ms. Walsh nodded. “She was quite insistent about it, in fact. And then—” an expression of deep sadness flitted across Ms. Walsh’s face “—then she tried to give it to me.”

Shocked by the thought of Kitty doing such a thing in the first place, and with her teacher of all people in the second, Jack sat back in his chair and stared at Ms. Walsh. “Did you accept it?”

“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” she said. “I told her she could save it for her grandmother or give it to you.”

“That’s what upset her?”

Ms. Walsh shook her head. “She didn’t get upset.”

Jack frowned. “You called me in here to tell me that you’re upset because Kitty didn’t get upset?”

Ms. Walsh nodded again.

“Why?” he asked, not at all sure he really wanted to hear the answer. Women had such a bizarre sense of logic sometimes, especially when they talked about emotions. Ms. Walsh rolled her eyes at the ceiling as if he were the dimwit, then held out her hands to him in some sort of a plea, the meaning of which eluded him.

Great. Now she’d start waving her hands around like a Shakespearean actor. God, somebody, anybody, please, save him from overly dramatic females.

“If Kitty had cried or acted out in some way, I could have comforted her,” she said, “or we could have talked about her feelings.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It would if you had a heart,” Ms. Walsh grumbled under her breath.

“Excuse me, I didn’t hear that.” Of course he had heard the remark, but he wanted to see if she had the nerve to repeat it.

Exasperation entered her voice, faint but still detectable. “It wasn’t important.”

Obviously it was important to her, but he didn’t intend to prolong this conversation one instant longer than necessary. He probably wouldn’t understand the mumbo-jumbo, pop-psychology-ridden explanation she would throw at him, anyway. “I still don’t see the problem. What, exactly, did Kitty say?”

“She didn’t say anything. She just turned away, crumpled up her Mother’s Day gift and dropped it into the trash can.” Ms. Walsh sighed. “I’ve never seen a child look so miserable and resigned. Please, Mr. Granger, believe me when I tell you that Kitty needs professional help.”

Jack wanted to yell, but forced himself to speak softly. At least he knew that emotions belonged under wraps, not cluttering up an important conversation. “Don’t start that therapy nonsense again.” He thumped his forefinger on the desk for emphasis. “I’ve told you before, we tried it after her mother died, and it only made things worse for Kitty.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.” He cast his mind back to the months following Gina’s funeral. Night after night, his daughter had cried herself to sleep, only to awaken in the wee hours, screaming with nightmares. Nothing he’d tried had comforted her, and he’d never felt more helpless, more useless in his life. “It just didn’t work.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t now,” she said. “Maybe Kitty was too young then or the counselor’s personality didn’t click with hers. If she needs help—”

Finding it difficult not to leap to his feet and pace, Jack interrupted. “She doesn’t. All she needs is more time.”

“It’s been two years since her mother’s death. If Kitty was going to recover on her own, don’t you think she would have shown more progress by now?”

“It takes as long as it takes. There’s no set timetable for grieving.” God knows, it had taken him a long time even to begin to accept Gina’s death. It wasn’t any surprise to him that it would take Kitty longer.

Ms. Walsh inhaled deeply, and Jack suspected she was counting to ten. Seeing her rein in her emotions certainly was a switch, as was the calm, well-modulated tone she used next. Had someone been coaching her? Perhaps Ms. Walsh had gone to irritation-management classes.

“Of course, there isn’t,” she said, “but sometimes people need a little help with this kind of an adjustment. The social worker here does wonderful work with grieving children. I could get Kitty in to see her early next week.”

“No.”

She blinked, then shot him a startled glance as if she couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to add a sentence of justification she could refute. Too bad. Creating and tolerating uncomfortable silences was part of his job.

“That won’t do, Mr. Granger.” Her voice gained volume with every word. “It won’t do at all. Whatever is going on with Kitty, it’s draining the sparkle and life right out of her, and it’s taking a serious toll on her schoolwork.”

Jack smiled inwardly. Whoever got angry first always lost the argument. “I’m beginning to think that maybe you don’t know as much about children as you think you do, Ms. Walsh. I’ve done everything you’ve suggested—”

She cut him off with an impatient chop of one hand. “I know you’ve tried, but it’s simply not enough. As it stands now, I can’t promote Kitty to second grade unless she develops some concentration and catches up. She’s too far behind the other children.”

“What?” Dammit, even he had a limit to the amount of aggravation he could take at one sitting. Pushing back his chair, he stood again, straightening to his full height. “You’ve never said that before and the school year’s almost over. Why did you wait so long?”

Ms. Walsh rose and tipped her head way back to meet his gaze. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder, but if his height advantage bothered her, he couldn’t detect it.

“Like you, I’ve been hoping Kitty would come around,” she said. “She’s an extremely bright little girl, but she spends most of the day staring off into space and refusing to participate in class activities with the other children. She’s not retaining what she does manage to learn from one day to the next, and she needs to stay on task until she finishes her assignments.”

“You are not going to hold her back,” Jack insisted. “I’ll go to the principal, the superintendent of public instruction, or the president of the school board if I have to, but you will not hold her back.”

The look she gave him could have melted granite. “Go right ahead,” she said, mimicking his posture and his soft, deadly tone. “They’ll tell you that first grade is absolutely vital to her future academic success.”

“Give me a break. She’s only six years old.” He propped his hands on his hips. “What’s so important about the first grade that it can ruin the rest of her school career?”

“Oh, nothing much. First grade is only where they learn to read. And do simple arithmetic and a whole lot of other things that Kitty isn’t getting.”

Ms. Walsh waved one hand in front of her body as if to encompass the entire room. “It may not seem like much to you, but for the next eleven years everything she studies will build on what she’s supposed to learn here. If she doesn’t conquer the basics now, she’ll struggle through every class she ever takes. Is that what you want for her?”

For a long, excruciating moment, he remained silent, feeling ashamed of himself for taking a cheap shot at a woman who, even though she annoyed the devil out of him, obviously cared a great deal about his daughter. “Of course I don’t want that.”

Jack felt a knot of fire in the center of his chest. He stepped away from the visitor’s chair, wanting to leave and regroup before he said something he’d regret. “I’ll have to take this under advisement.” He pushed back his cuff and glanced at his watch. “I need to be home in fifteen minutes. I’ll let you know what I decide.”

“Hold it right there!” She scrambled out from behind her desk as if she had some notion of blocking his path. “We’re not finished. I need a better answer than that.”

“I said,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’ll get back to you.”

She narrowed her eyes and stuck out her chin. “When?”

“Will next week be soon enough for you?” He turned and started for the doorway.

“No, it will not.” She hurried after him. “None of this is for me, Mr. Granger. It’s for Kitty. Can’t you see that your child is suffering? And you’re just letting it go on and on. She deserves better from you than you’re giving her.”

Literally seeing red at her accusations, he came to an abrupt halt and turned back around to face her. “Do you have any children, Ms. Walsh?”

She paled, and for the first time, her gaze failed to meet his. “No, I don’t.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound, even to his own ears. “Why am I not surprised? It’s always easy to criticize what you don’t understand, isn’t it.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” She reached out, as if she would touch his arm. He stepped back out of range and waited until she lowered her hand to her side.

“Well, you did. And let me tell you, being a parent is a lot harder than it looks to people who’ve never tried it. Before you start throwing around remarks like that, maybe you should get married and try having a kid of your own.”

Ignoring her horrified expression, he strode out of the room and down the hallway, and slammed through the school’s front doors. He desperately wanted to get in his car and drive as fast and as far away from this school, Ms. Walsh and all of Spokane, Washington, as possible, and never come back. But he couldn’t give up and run away.

Though he might be a miserable failure as a father, he was all Kitty had. And he was going to do right by her—whatever that meant.



Shading her eyes against the bright sunshine during recess the next morning, Abby Walsh watched Kitty Granger and felt an immediate, all-too-familiar tug at her heart. The little girl sat on the concrete step with her back against the school building, her skinny legs hugged tightly to her chest, her chin resting on her knees, lost in some lonely world only she could see.

Turning to her best friend, Erin Johnson, Abby asked, “Is it just me, or is that kid in serious trouble?”

Erin snorted, then stared at Abby in obvious disbelief. “Well, duh. That’s hardly normal behavior for a six-year-old.”

Abby allowed herself to relax a smidgeon. A child psychologist with a thriving practice, Erin always called things exactly the way she saw them. If Erin saw a problem, there must be one. Still, Abby couldn’t stop herself from asking for more reassurance. “You’re positive it’s not just me?”

“Your instincts are usually right on target when it comes to kids. Why doubt yourself now?”

“You’ve never met Kitty’s daddy, Granger the Grump.” Abby glanced back toward the playground, automatically counting heads. First graders were so unpredictable when they went outside, a teacher couldn’t be too careful about keeping track of them. “When I’ve talked to him about getting her into counseling, he’s always convinced me I was overreacting. I needed an expert opinion to be sure I wasn’t imagining anything.”

Erin inclined her head toward Kitty. “She should be playing, but she’s just sitting there all by herself. She’s not even watching the other kids, and she looks so sad, I can’t believe she’s not crying.”

“Do you think she’s clinically depressed?”

“It’s impossible to be sure without talking to her, which we both know I can’t do without her father’s permission,” Erin said with a grimace.

Abby gave Erin’s forearm a squeeze. “Just give me your best professional guess.”

“My best professional guess is that the poor child is depressed and probably has been since her mother died,” Erin replied. “She’s showing classic symptoms, and God knows she’s got a good reason to be depressed. At the very least, she needs an assessment.”

“Thanks.” Abby breathed a soft sigh of relief to have her own perceptions verified. “How do I convince her hardheaded father to change his mind about counseling?”

Erin shot her a wry smile. “Remember he’s a prosecutor, which means he’s probably a just-the-facts kind of a guy. Don’t get emotional when you talk to him or he’ll turn you off.”

Abby rolled her eyes toward heaven, then admitted, “Well, it’s already too late for that. I think his face would crack if he actually smiled. Every time I call him in for a conference, he acts like I’m imposing on his precious time. I’m telling you, he’s a royal pain in the—”

“This isn’t about you or grumpy Mr. Granger,” Erin interrupted. “It’s about a little girl who needs help.”

Wincing, Abby pretended to look behind Erin. “Where do you keep it?”

“Keep what?”

“That guilt cannon you just fired at me.”

Erin chuckled. “Hit the target, did I?”

“Dead center,” Abby confessed. “And you’re right. It’s about Kitty.”

“What happened with him yesterday?”

Abby shrugged, then looked away. “I lost my temper and sort of let my mouth run away without my brain.”

“You’ve got to stop doing that, Ab. How bad was it?”

Abby replayed the conversation, editing out his parting shot. Erin remained quiet, clearly allowing Abby’s words to echo in her mind.

Abby sighed when the silence stretched out, then finally said, “I really blew it, didn’t I.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do?”

“He might appreciate an apology.”

“Well, so would I.” Abby bit off an indignant huff. “I could have handled it better, but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Nice Guy, either.”

“Abby,” Erin chided. “What are you going to do for Kitty’s sake?”

“Well, I could write him a note tonight, and he’ll get it on Monday.”

“Why wait until Monday?” Erin said in a calm, infuriating manner. “That gives him a whole weekend to build up his defenses, and it’s exactly what a man like your grump would expect.”

“He’s not my grump,” Abby protested. “He’s not my anything, thank heaven. Where are you going with this?”

Erin fell silent for a moment, then said, “Do something he won’t expect. Push him off balance for once.”

“I’d rather push him off a cliff.” When Erin simply stared at her in response, Abby gave in. “All right, it’s hard to imagine him off balance, but I’ll bite. What won’t he expect?”

“You’ve always met with him at school,” Erin said. “Why don’t you invade his turf for a change?”

“What?” Abby yelped, appalled at the idea.

“It’s perfect. Show up at his house tonight with an apology and a plate of cookies as a peace offering.”

“He’ll throw me off his property.”

“Mr. Dignified, Public Servant Granger?” Erin laughed. “He will not. He’ll have to be gracious, and you’ll get a chance to see what he and Kitty are like at home. You can collect a lot of information from a home visit.”

“And you’d be happy to interpret that information for me.”

“Absolutely,” Erin agreed. “Are you willing to try it?”

Abby considered the question, wondering where she would find the courage to deal with Granger the Grump twice in one week.

“All right, I’ll do it. And this time, I’ll be absolutely logical and businesslike, if it kills me.”

Abby glanced at Kitty again. She was a beautiful child with fine, shiny black hair no ponytail holder could contain for long, sad brown eyes, an adorable little nose and a sweet bow mouth that rarely smiled. “She’s the sweetest little girl in the world, and I can’t stand seeing her look so lost and alone all the time.”

“She’s his daughter, Ab.”

Abby stiffened. “I’m not likely to forget that. But what kind of a father can’t see what’s happening to his own child?”

“Don’t be so judgmental,” Erin scolded her. “He’s probably struggling to get through one day at a time, like most other single parents. He still may be suffering with his own grief. Or he may be in denial. None of which makes him a bad father.”

Sniffing, Abby crossed her arms over her breasts. “Well, there is no way I’m going to back off and let him ruin that child.”

Erin pinned her with a stare. “I thought you weren’t going to get involved with your students anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“Then who was that warrior-woman I just heard? Mighty defender of the girl-child and all that?”

Abby turned her head away. “You imagined her.”

“If it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck…” Erin uttered a wry laugh. “I think maybe we should reconsider the idea of your going to his house.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Abby smiled and squeezed Erin’s arm again. “I’m just going to convince Mr. Granger to hire you as Kitty’s therapist. You’ll take wonderful care of her, and I’ll be able to leave Spokane knowing she’s going to be all right.”

“And you’ll stop at recommending me? You promise you won’t get any more involved with the Grangers than that?”

“It depends on Mr. Granger and Kitty.”

Erin shot her a worried look. “Abby—”

Abby let out an exasperated huff. “Trust me, there’s no danger of starting a personal relationship that could become a problem later. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”




Chapter Two


Can’t you see that your child is suffering?

“No, she’s not,” Jack muttered as he drove home on Friday night. He knew about suffering from first-hand experience. Kitty had suffered the most when she’d been in therapy before, dammit, but Ms. Walsh didn’t understand that. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it.

Wishing he could strangle someone, he tightened his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles hurt. He’d gone over his meeting with Ms. Walsh in his mind a hundred times since yesterday, but her words continued to haunt him.

And you’re just letting it go on and on.

“Oh, you’re so damn smug,” he said. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what she went through.”

She deserves better from you than you’re giving her.

“Yeah, well, so what else is new? I’m doing the best I can, but it’ll never be enough. It’ll never be as good as what Gina could’ve done for her, either. And there’s not much I can do about that, is there?”

He crossed the Little Spokane River and pulled into his long, gravel driveway, a sense of inadequacy chomping at his insides in spite of all his muttering. Parking beside the 1940s farmhouse he and Gina had started to remodel, he got out of the car and stood there for a moment, waiting for the inevitable pang of loss and loneliness to ease. God, he still missed her, for his own sake as well as his daughter’s.

Gina had been more than a wife to him. She’d been his soul mate. They’d been high school sweethearts, they’d given their virginity to each other. He’d never been with another woman, had never wanted anyone else.

He knew it was time now to move on. Knew that Gina wouldn’t want or expect him to spend the rest of his life alone. But it was hard.

He told himself to stop wallowing in his grief and think about something else. Surveying his property, he grimaced at what he saw. There was still so much to be done. But between his job and taking care of Kitty, he never had any time to start a home-improvement project, much less finish one.

The back door banged open and Millie Patten, his housekeeper and baby-sitter, stepped out onto the stoop, propping her hands on her ample hips. Jack took one look at her disappointed expression and bit back a curse. Great. Just what he needed—another dose of guilt.

Millie was a sweet, hardworking woman. She reminded him of a grandmother or a great-aunt who loves you without reservation, but at the same time feels compelled to “help” you correct all your major and minor faults. It was all done with the best of intentions and in the most loving possible way, of course. Loving, like a defense lawyer on a crusade.

“Oh, Jack.” she said, drawing out each syllable in a soft tone that made him feel ten times worse than a scolding one would have. “Do you have any idea what time it is, dear?”

Sometimes the woman drove him nuts with her unsolicited advice, but her job had been damn hard to fill. Unlike too many of her predecessors, she was competent and reliable, and she dearly loved Kitty. That was all that really mattered.

“Sorry, Millie,” he said. “I’ll do better next week.”

“That’s what you always say,” she replied. “But you’re still late nearly every night, and it isn’t right.”

“Well, at least I’m good for the overtime.”

She sadly shook her head at him. “That’s not the point, dear. You need to spend more time with Kitty. And you need to stop burying yourself in work and get a social life of your own.”

Jack approached her, the fingers of his left hand locked around the handle of his briefcase in a punishing grip. “If I had a social life, I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time with Kitty as I do now.”

“At least you’d have some hope of finding her a mother.”

“Millie, please. I appreciate your concern, but you’ll just have to let me worry about that. All right?”

She turned on the run-down heel of the athletic shoes she always wore and marched back into the house. Jack followed her inside, calculated what he owed her for the week and handed her a check. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“All right. But do try to play with Kitty this weekend. She needs your attention.”

He shut the door behind her and jabbed one hand through his hair in frustration. Jeez. Did she really think he intended to ignore his daughter all weekend? Loosening his tie with one hand, he flipped through the stack of mail, then carried the bills and his briefcase into the den.

The massive desk and the files he’d brought home called to him, enticing him to escape from the upheaval in his personal life to the sanctuary of work. Compared to the constant ambiguity of raising a child, the law was blessedly clear.

The sound of the television drifted into the den from the family room. Draping his coat and tie over the back of his chair, he went to find Kitty, rolling up his shirtsleeves on the way. As expected, she was curled up on the overstuffed sofa, staring at the TV as if entranced.

Jack crossed the room. Kitty looked up at him with Gina’s brown eyes, but didn’t speak. Her eyes were huge in her small, pale face, and her ponytail holder had slipped over to one side of her head. There must be a trick to putting those things in so they’d stay put, but he hadn’t yet found it.

“Hi, Kitten,” he said. “What are you up to?”

Kitty shrugged one shoulder, then inclined her head toward the television. “Watching kid shows.”

He glanced at the TV. A weird-looking creature with blue fur and googly eyes cavorted across the screen with a group of children. “So I see. Is this a good one?”

She shrugged the same shoulder. He searched for another topic, but drew a blank. How this could happen to him, he didn’t know. Every day he talked to all kinds of people, from defendants and their attorneys, to cops and judges, to crime victims and their families, but he couldn’t even make decent chitchat with his own daughter.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Wrinkling her nose, Kitty shook her head. “Not very.”

He checked his watch. “It’s past your dinnertime.”

Kitty bounced her left leg against the sofa in a quick, rhythmic pattern. “Can’t help it, Daddy. I’m just not hungry.”

“Did you have a snack after school?”

“Uh-uh. Didn’t want one.”

Studying her with a more critical eye, Jack frowned. Her face was painfully thin. So were her arms and legs. Had she lost weight or just grown? He wasn’t sure, but he knew she looked too scrawny to be healthy. When had that happened? He could have sworn she’d looked fine when he’d driven her to school that morning. Frustrated that he hadn’t noticed the change in her appearance sooner, he held out a hand to her.

“Well, I’m starving. Come and set the table for me. Maybe that’ll help you work up an appetite.”

Kitty slowly sat up. Then, with obvious reluctance, she pushed herself to her feet, but made no move to take his hand. Assuming she would follow, Jack walked back to the kitchen.

This was the one completely renovated room in the whole house, and though he was an indifferent cook, he appreciated the modern, efficient layout Gina had created. He washed his hands at the faucet, then pulled a step stool up to the sink for Kitty while he rummaged through the pantry and the refrigerator.

Ugh. He didn’t feel like cooking. A burger or a taco or a pizza sounded great, but he’d been studying nutrition lately—at Millie’s urging. Kitty needed fresh, healthy food, not an overdose of salt and saturated fat. He pulled out the green salad Millie had made, a package of chicken breasts, fresh broccoli and potatoes for the microwave.

Kitty set the table, dragging herself back and forth between the table and the cupboards. Watching her covertly, Jack felt increasingly alarmed. In one of his child-rearing books he’d read that six-year-old kids were supposed to run around and drive their parents crazy with about a thousand questions a day. So why wasn’t Kitty doing that?

Dammit, he’d worked so hard to learn how to be a good parent. And now, because of Ms. Busybody Walsh, he was seeing problems everywhere he looked.

But what if Kitty really was suffering, and he wasn’t seeing it because he didn’t want to see it? Was that even possible?

He hated the familiar worry clamoring for his attention, dreaded the sleepless nights he knew would follow. Thank you, Ms. Walsh. Why couldn’t that woman mind her own damn business?



At seven-thirty Abby climbed into her red Bronco, drove north on Division Street and made her way to Little Spokane River Drive where the Grangers lived. The sun was almost to the western horizon, filling the sky with a soft, reddish glow. The air was cool and sweet, the scenery pretty as the road cut through alternating sections of productive farmland and new residential developments.

There were some big, beautiful homes out here, but she wondered how a public official like Mr. Granger could afford the steep prices the area demanded. Maybe he’d inherited a lot of money, or his wife had carried a hefty life insurance policy. Or maybe his family had owned one of the original homesteads.

It was none of her business, of course, but a healthy dose of curiosity rarely hurt anyone, and it made life much more interesting. The two-lane road followed the dips and rises of the spring-green foothills and the sparkling curves of the river. Abby rolled down the window, drinking in the soft, country sounds of birds and the rich, earthy smells of farm animals and freshly plowed fields.

Two miles later she spotted a barn-shaped mailbox painted with the distinctive black-and-white spots of a Holstein cow. Wrought-iron numbers bearing the Grangers’ address stretched across the top. She crossed the small bridge and drove down a long, gravel driveway into the farmyard. Turning off the engine, she sat behind the steering wheel and studied the property with interest.

She had expected an imposing, immaculate house and perfectly manicured grounds judging from Mr. Granger’s impeccable appearance and rigid personality. But while the white, two-story clapboard house was certainly imposing, its barren front porch and empty flower beds gave it a sad aura that reminded her of Kitty. Despite its neglected appearance, however, it had great potential to look homey and inviting.

If it were hers, she would spend the summer decorating that big front porch with wind chimes and wicker furniture with bright, even gaudy cushions, and filling those flower beds with color and life.

Abby slung her school satchel over her shoulder, then grabbed the plastic-wrapped plate of chocolate chip cookies and climbed out of the Bronco. Her stomach tightened with apprehension, but she straightened her spine and set off across the yard. Bracing herself for unpleasantness, she knocked on the door.

Seconds later she heard footsteps, the door swung inward and Granger the Grouch stood in the opening. On a purely physical basis, she found Jack Granger extremely attractive. His features were rugged enough to make his face really interesting. Though they were usually cold and distant, his blue eyes revealed a fierce intelligence that fascinated her.

She preferred men who weren’t quite so big, but she had to admit she’d admired his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long limbs more than once. Even a suit and tie couldn’t hide such a fit, well-defined physique.

His evening beard had sprouted. He still wore his suit pants, but the coat and tie were missing and his white shirt hung open at the neck. All the way down to the third button. The V of chest exposed was tanned and matted with crisp dark hair. Oh, goodness, that slightly rumpled look was an improvement.

“You,” he said, leaving no doubt whatsoever that finding her on his porch was anything but a nice surprise.

She smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Granger.”

“What are you doing here?”

Abby cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his angry gaze. Uh-oh. She pulled herself up to her full height, imagined herself taller. Much, much taller. None of it eased the tension crackling between them. She shoved the cookies toward his midsection. He grabbed for the plate, fumbled with it when she yanked her hand away too quickly, but saved it before it hit the floor.

“I brought a peace offering,” she said, while he was still juggling the plate. “I want to apologize for yesterday. I’m just…” She paused, groping for exactly the right words to express herself in a way he would not only understand, but accept. “I look at Kitty and she’s such a sweet little girl and I see so much potential in her, I’m extremely frustrated to see her floundering.”

“And you think I’m not?”

Abby held her palms in front of her shoulders, hoping that small gesture could soothe his irritation. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I think there’s another avenue to explore in order to help Kitty, but I know you’re a caring father who’s doing his best in what must be a very difficult situation. I let my frustration and temper get the better of me, and I really am sorry for the way I spoke to you.”

The stiffness in his posture eased fractionally, and his voice lost its hard edge. “I appreciate your apology.”

She reached into the satchel, pulled out the sheaf of papers she’d brought along and handed them to him. This time she didn’t have to force a smile. He didn’t return it, but he studied her mouth as if he realized there was something new or different he should notice. Her lips tingled.

“This is a copy of our school district’s learning targets for first grade,” she said, pretending not to see the way he startled at the sound of her voice. “It lists everything Kitty should be able to do in order to move on to second grade.”

He set the cookies on something inside, then leafed through the first five sheets, his eyes opening wider with each page before he looked at her again. “All of this?”

Abby nodded. “And that’s just the district’s requirements. We also have EARLS, or Essential Academic Learning Requirements, and Benchmarks from the State Board of Education.”

“May I study this?” he asked.

“Keep it. I can always print another one off the district’s Web site. I thought it would give you a more realistic idea of how much Kitty still needs to learn before I can promote her.”

“I see.”

“Ms. Walsh?”

Abby glanced down and discovered a wide-eyed Kitty standing beside her father. The little girl wore the same pink shorts outfit she’d had on at school, and she was gazing up at Abby with a tentative grin that made Abby’s arms ache to hug her.

“Did you come to visit me?” Kitty asked.

Abby automatically crouched down until she was at eye level with the little girl. “I brought your daddy some papers and some cookies, too.”

“Really?” Kitty said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Abby replied. “They’ll taste great with some milk.”

“Are you gonna eat them with me?”

Seeing more animation in the little girl’s face than she had in weeks, Abby hesitated. She would love to accept the invitation to gather information for Erin, as well as for Kitty’s sake, but Mr. Granger’s warning scowl squelched that idea. She didn’t want to push her luck too far, after all. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I shouldn’t.”

Kitty craned her neck to look up at her father. “Ask her to stay, Daddy.”

“Ms. Walsh already said she can’t,” he said, his tone calm and quiet.

Kitty raised her chin to an uncommonly stubborn angle; Abby had rarely seen her care about anything enough to make a fuss. “But she’ll stay if you ask her. I know she will.”

Clearly surprised and not a little dismayed by his daughter’s argument, it was Mr. Granger’s turn to hesitate. While he obviously didn’t want to invite her into his house, he just as obviously didn’t want to disappoint Kitty, either. He looked so torn, Abby almost laughed.

“Well, Ms. Walsh?” he finally said, his voice little more than a grumble. “Would you like to come in for cookies?”

Abby couldn’t help chuckling at his grudging invitation. “Hey, when you put it that way, I’m never too busy to have a cookie with one of my favorite students.”

Kitty raised her head and gaped at Abby. The smile of sheer delight that immediately spread across the little girl’s face made the whole trip out here worth it, as far as Abby was concerned. Kitty dashed forward, took Abby’s hand and tugged her toward the threshold.

Abby took a couple of steps, halting when she realized Mr. Granger hadn’t moved. He looked huge, disgruntled and about as movable as a boulder. With his broad shoulders and his feet spread wide apart, he filled up most of the doorway. She wondered if he was having second thoughts about inviting her in. Or maybe he was using his size in an attempt to intimidate her, reminding her of who was in charge here.

She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that it was working. It annoyed her to no end because she usually paid little attention to anyone else’s size in relation to her own. To her mind, she wasn’t overly short; other people were overly tall. But whenever she had to talk to Mr. Granger, she always felt like a Chihuahua yapping at a Great Dane.

Too bad for him, she’d die before he would ever see it.

Plastering a smile on her lips, she turned sideways and followed Kitty inside. Though she tightened her muscles when she passed him, her breasts still brushed against his abdomen. He felt as hard and solid as that boulder she’d imagined. It had been so long since she’d had even this much contact with a man’s body, the instant shock of sexual awareness froze her in place.

His harshly drawn breath drew her gaze to his. To her amazement, she saw that same shocked awareness she was experiencing reflected in his eyes. He immediately stepped back, leaving enough space for a shopping cart to pass through without touching either of them. His gaze remained locked with hers, however, and she found it impossible to break eye contact.

Finally, Kitty gave her hand an impatient jerk, pulling Abby through the doorway and breaking the spell. Feeling an unfortunate urge to laugh hysterically, Abby grabbed the plate of cookies from an entryway table and allowed the little girl to lead her away.

They walked through a formal living room. It was furnished with classic, conservative pieces of furniture covered in earth-toned, practical fabrics that suited the Grump’s personality, but horrified Abby. Good heavens, it all blended as beautifully as a magazine layout, but the whole room desperately needed more light and color, and it was painfully neat. Far too neat for a sane adult, much less anyone raising a young child.

Didn’t this kid own any toys?

The kitchen was more of the same cool perfection, though it clearly had been designed with a woman’s convenience in mind. It was impossible to imagine making enough of a mess in this room to cook anything that didn’t come in a microwavable package. Abby blinked, then shivered.

“Come on, Ms. Walsh.” Releasing Abby’s hand, Kitty ran across the kitchen, dragged a step stool over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “I’ll get the milk.”

Abby quickly deposited the cookies on the table and hurried to Kitty’s side to lend her a hand if she needed one. When Mr. Granger entered the room, she ignored him. He walked to one of the cupboards, took out three small plates and three glasses, and carried them to the table, his movements brisk and efficient.

She didn’t catch a whiff of his subtle aftershave, notice he looked tired or feel one bit distracted because he still hadn’t fastened those three buttons on his shirt. She didn’t even see that tanned slice of bare chest playing peek-a-boo as he moved around the room. No, siree. What a liar she was.

Annoyed by her adolescent, inappropriate reactions to him, Abby said, “I’m afraid those glasses won’t do, Mr. Granger.”

He shot her an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t believe she had the nerve to question his judgment. Well, too bad. It was his own fault for distracting her.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked.

“They’re too tall.”

“Too tall for what?”

“For dunking cookies, of course,” Abby replied. “Shorter cups work much better.”

“We don’t dunk cookies at our house,” he said flatly.

“Mommy used to let me sometimes,” Kitty said, her voice so soft that it was barely audible. Setting the milk carton on the table, she climbed onto one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, twisted her fingers together in her lap and looked at them. “She said I should only do it at home, but cookies taste better that way.”

Mr. Granger stared at her. After a moment, he swallowed, then abruptly returned to the cupboards, put the glasses away and brought three mugs back to the table.

Having glimpsed real pain in his eyes, Abby set out to give him a moment to collect himself. She stripped the plastic wrap off the paper plate and offered it to the little girl. “Well, now, Miss Kitty, would you care to try one of these super-duper chocolate chip numbers?”

“Yes, please.” She carefully selected a cookie and placed it neatly in the center of her plate.

Abby winced inside. Erin had been right about how much a person could learn about a family from an in-home visit. No six-year-old child should be this perfect. Making a tsking sound, she sadly shook her head.

“Oh, that poor little cookie looks so lonely sitting there all by itself. I think you’d better take another one to keep it company.”

Kitty gave her a shy grin, then looked to her father for permission. Nodding, he gently touched her hair. “Go ahead, Kitten. No telling what a lonely cookie might do.”

Swallowing at a lump that had suddenly invaded her own throat, Abby held the plate until Kitty selected another cookie. Jeez, it wasn’t fair for the Grump to call his daughter Kitten and stroke her hair as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in his world. If he kept that up, Abby might actually have to start liking him, which would only confuse the heck out of her.

Abby served herself a cookie and sat down beside Kitty. Mr. Granger filled the cups and sat on the opposite side of the table. He selected a cookie for himself, then looked directly at Abby, his expression clearly saying, All right. What next?

Abby smiled, more than happy to accept his silent challenge. Maintaining eye contact, she dunked a cookie halfway into her cup, let it soak up the cold milk and quickly stuffed it into her mouth, closing her eyes and making noises of ecstasy as the flavors hit her taste buds.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Giggling, Kitty followed her example.

Mr. Granger watched them both with a wry smile. When he finally began to eat his own cookie, he didn’t join in with the dunking fun, but he didn’t say anything to discourage Kitty’s fun, either. Abby would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking, but she focused her attention where it belonged—on Kitty.

Kitty took forever to finish her snack, but at last she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which, in Abby’s opinion, was more appropriate for a little girl than the paper napkin her father had given her.

With shining eyes, Kitty turned to Abby. “Would you like to see my bedroom, Ms. Walsh?”

“We’ve already taken up enough of Ms. Walsh’s time,” Mr. Granger said.

The little girl shot her father a rebellious scowl and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I want Ms. Walsh to see my room.”

“It’s almost your bedtime, Kitten. Go upstairs and get ready, and I’ll be up to read to you in a few minutes.”

Kitty looked to Abby, obviously hoping that she would overrule her father, but Abby suddenly saw a bone-deep weariness in his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Your daddy’s right. I do need to get home. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

Abby held her breath, hoping that Kitty would argue for what she wanted, and for a moment, the little girl looked as if she just might do it. But then her eyes stopped shining, her shoulders slumped, and she murmured, “Okay, Ms. Walsh. Thank you for the cookies.”

“You’re welcome, honey. I’m glad you liked them.”

Picking up her plate and mug, Kitty carried them to the sink and left the room. The poor little scrap looked so much like a deflated balloon, Abby had to blink back tears. The tension in the kitchen grew to painful proportions while they studied each other across the table, waiting for Kitty to get out of earshot. Finally, the sound of running water filtered down from upstairs.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For staying. It meant a lot to Kitty.”

“I wanted her to know she’s important to me,” Abby said. “And I didn’t want her to worry that I was upset with her because I turned down her Mother’s Day gift.”

“I appreciate that. She obviously likes you.”

He didn’t say that he didn’t like her, but the implication was there in the air between them. Yet he seemed more open to a discussion about Kitty now than he had earlier. Abby took a deep breath, then plunged right in.

“Look, Mr. Granger, we’re supposed to be on the same side, here. Don’t you think we can find a way to work together to help Kitty?”

“You’d think so.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, then reached for another cookie. “We don’t seem to agree on much, though.”

“We don’t have to.” Abby tilted her head to one side, shaking it when he offered her the cookie plate. “I thought the way Kitty acted tonight was promising.”

“In what way?”

“It was refreshing to see her act so much like a regular kid tonight.”

“Well, she is a regular kid.”

Abby gaped at him. “How can you say that after seeing what just happened to her?”

“Nothing happened to her. What are you talking about?”

“She was giggly and lively for a while. She used to be that way all the time, didn’t she?”

Impatience—or perhaps it was defensiveness—sharpened his voice. “What’s your point?”

“Tonight I saw the little girl I’ll bet Kitty used to be. She needs to become that little girl again if she’s going to have a happy life. She should be animated and obnoxious and argue for what she wants like any other kid, instead of being that overly polite, sad little ghost who just left the room.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not. You sat right there and saw it yourself. When you refused to let me see her room, all of that life and fun drained right out of her.”

“Are you saying that I should never say no to her?”

“Of course not. But would it really have hurt—”

“Ms. Walsh,” he interrupted. “We’re not going to get anywhere with this tonight, so you’ll have to excuse me. Thank you for your concern, but I need to go and take care of my daughter.”

“Fine.” Abby carried her plate and mug to the sink and set them beside Kitty’s.

Mr. Granger escorted her to the front door and held it open for her. Unable to resist, she pointed at the stack of papers he’d left sitting on the entry table. “Do study those learning targets, and you’ll see how much farther Kitty needs to go. If you change your mind about getting her into counseling, let me know. I have several excellent people I can recommend.”

“Good night, Ms. Walsh.”

“Good night, Mr. Granger.”

She hurried down the steps, climbed into her Bronco and turned the key in the ignition, pausing a moment to take one last look at the Grangers’ house. Mr. Granger had already gone inside and shut the front door. There were lights on in one of the upstairs rooms, and, looking at the window, Abby could make out the shape of Kitty’s head. A little hand came up and waved at her.

Abby waved back. She still had three full weeks of school left. In that amount of time, she’d find a way to help Kitty, whether Mr. Granger liked it or not. And while she was at it, she was going to help him, too.

He’d always seemed so strong and sure of himself, she’d never actually thought of him as someone in pain. Though he obviously was in deep denial where Kitty was concerned, Abby believed there was hope for him yet. She didn’t doubt for a second that once he saw for himself what Kitty needed, he would move heaven and earth to get it for her. Now all Abby had to do was find a way to get him to see his daughter in a more realistic light.

She was going to have to behave herself, though. She couldn’t afford to fool herself about the attraction she felt for both the Grangers, but especially for Jack. A true professional wouldn’t have even noticed how sexy he could be when he wasn’t acting like a grumpface.




Chapter Three


Three hours later, Jack sat at his desk, plowing through the files he’d brought home. He needed concentration to commit the important facts of each case to memory, but tonight it wasn’t there. He tossed down his pen in frustration, then heard a low cry coming from upstairs.

He took the stairs three at a time, entered Kitty’s room and stood watching her. She’d kicked off her covers, her hair was plastered to her forehead with perspiration and parallel tear trails glistened on her flushed cheeks. Her head thrashing back and forth, she repeatedly whimpered the one word guaranteed to rip his heart right down the middle.

“Mommyyyy.”

Kitty had cried in her sleep every night for five months after Gina’s death. The memories of that time still had the power to bring him to his knees. Lord, he couldn’t stand it if she started doing this again. He picked up Kitty and cuddled her against his chest, stroking her hair.

“Shh, Kitten,” he crooned. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

“Mommy.”

“I know, baby. I know. I miss her, too.”

Shivering, she heaved a huge, wobbly sigh, rested her cheek against his shoulder, then snuggled closer. He kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back and rocking her. When she relaxed into that boneless state only children achieve, he lay her in the middle of her bed and pulled the covers over her.

He stood there, anxiously watching. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had brought this on. He’d like to strangle that pint-size buttinsky teacher and her blasted Mother’s Day project for stirring up memories and emotions that were better left alone. Kitty shouldn’t have to suffer one more second of pain over her mother’s death.

Ms. Walsh could just butt right back out of their lives, because Kitty was all right, dammit. And he would prove it to that little woman. The best way to do that was to get Kitty caught up with the rest of her classmates.

Hurrying downstairs, he found the stack of papers Ms. Walsh had delivered, took them into the den and settled in behind his desk. Good grief, there were learning targets for reading and math, for writing, social studies, physical education, music and art, even behavior. It seemed like an awful lot of things for such little kids to have to learn in one school year.

He flipped back to the math section. “Recognizes and writes numerals from 1 to 100,” he read. “Counts sets of objects less than 100 using a variety of grouping strategies such as twos, fives and tens. Verbalizes and records addition and subtraction problems.”

The list went on. Trying to guess how many of those things Kitty could do gave him a hollow feeling in the middle of his chest. Could she do any of them? Not enough. Well, damn. They’d have to work on this stuff, of course, but what if she really couldn’t retain the things she learned? What if she truly was depressed?

No, that was ridiculous. Kitty wasn’t depressed. He would know if she was in serious trouble. Of course, he would.

Slowly and much more carefully, he reread the papers, going all the way to the bottom of the stack. The last page was the infamous Mother’s Day gift. At least, he thought that was what it must be. He held it up with both hands.

The single, wrinkled page had a recent photo of Kitty, a set of her handprints done in bright red paint and a poem.

HANDPRINTS

You like a shiny, tidy house,

And sometimes I do too.

But I have lots of things to learn,

Like tying my own shoes.

I hurry to try this and that,

And often make a mess.

But gee, I always have such fun,

’Cause, Mommy, you’re the best.

You always love my pictures,

My mud pies are great art.

So please don’t clean these handprints up,

I made them for your heart.

Jack cleared his tight throat and rubbed one hand down over his face, wiping a trace of dampness from his eyes. Damn. The photo, the handprints and the poem were all so sweet and sentimental, Gina would have cried buckets over them. He set the paper on the desk and pushed it to one side.

Kitty had wanted to give it to Ms. Walsh. If Ms. Walsh had accepted it, he never would have seen it. Suddenly he felt as if he didn’t even know his own daughter anymore. He could understand that she might need to have a female role model, but of all the women in the world for Kitty to latch on to, Ms. Walsh would be dead last on his list. She was too emotional. Too bossy. Too…well, just too convinced she was right about everything.

Oh, yeah? And who would be first on your list?

He wanted to tell that mocking inner voice to shut up, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t leave him alone until he answered the damn question. So, who would be first on his list? There was always his mother. Unfortunately, she lived in Texas, and Kitty only saw her for about a week once a year. It was the same story with Gina’s mother, who lived in New York City.

Since his two brothers were still bachelors and Gina had been an only child, there were no doting aunts for Kitty. He didn’t mix his private life with his professional one, which let out his co-workers. There were no girlfriends; he wasn’t even interested in dating yet.

Who did that leave? Millie Patten? Well, Millie had her good points, but she was a little old for Kitty to identify with and she could be awfully pushy sometimes.

All right, so now Kitty’s attachment to the teacher made more sense. When he’d seen her at work with her students, he had to admit that Ms. Walsh’s enthusiasm made learning fun. She was generous with attention, encouragement and praise. Her love for kids was so genuine, they all responded to her.

He also had to admit he respected Ms. Walsh for coming all the way out here to apologize to him. He even thought her bringing the cookies and the learning targets had been a nice touch. If she had left it at that, things would have been fine.

But she hadn’t done that. No, she’d come inside, made herself at home, criticized him for sending his daughter to bed, and then had the nerve to call Kitty an overly polite, sad little ghost.

Determined to put Ms. Walsh out of his mind, he piled up the learning targets and the Mother’s Day gift, thumped them down on a bookcase and went back to his desk. He picked up the file he’d been working on, read the first page, then realized he hadn’t digested a single word, slammed it shut and strode back to the family room, muttering choice expletives to himself.

It only took a minute to find the old box of family videotapes. He shoved the first tape into the VCR, braced himself as best he could and pushed the play button.

“Over here, sweetheart. Look at Mommy.”

Gina’s voice sounded so real on the videotape, Jack almost expected to turn his head and see her sitting beside him. When he hadn’t been certain he could go on without her for one more second, much less one more day, he’d watched these videos and pretended she was sitting beside him. He’d talked to her about anything and everything, until he finally realized that he’d rather live in his pretend world with Gina than in the real world with their daughter. Their daughter who needed him.

“Okay, Kitty, sing your song for Daddy,” Gina said.

A three-year-old Kitty posed for the camera. When Gina again coaxed her to sing her song, the little imp rolled her eyes like an exasperated teenager, then sang—well, she shouted more than she sang, but what could anyone reasonably expect from a three-year-old?

“I’m a wittwe teapot, shote and stout.”

Jack smiled and shook his head at the trouble Kitty had once had pronouncing her L’s and her R’s.

She jammed one hand on her hip. “Hewe is my handwe.” She flopped her other hand out to the side. “And hewe is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout.” Kitty bent at the waist, leaning toward her “spout.” “Tip me ovew and pouw me out.”

“Wonderful,” Gina said, zooming in for a close-up of Kitty’s face. “Say hi to Daddy.”

“Hi, Daddy! I wove you!” Kitty shouted, mugging for the camera again.

Jack watched the rest of that tape and the next one and the next, but long before the last one ended, he knew he had to face some hard truths he hadn’t wanted to see because they meant he was failing Kitty.

Dammit, Ms. Walsh was right. He hadn’t wanted her to be right about anything, because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching Kitty suffer in therapy the way she had before. That was why he’d found Ms. Walsh so irritating, why he didn’t want Kitty to like her so much, why he’d fought accepting her suggestions the way he should have done.

He’d been doing his best with Kitty, but his best wasn’t good enough. Not even close.

She didn’t look or act like the same child anymore, and the change had nothing to do with the age difference. The adorable, funny, happy child in the videotapes was the real Kitty, not the pale, skinny, tired little girl he’d come home to tonight. His Kitty was the one who shouted, “I wove you, Daddy,” and held out her little arms for a huge hug.

Jack leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Dear God, he wanted her back. He wanted her to be noisy and laugh and run around like a demented creature. He wanted her to wear him out with her demands of “Do it again, Daddy,” the way she had that day at the lake when he’d kept tossing her into the water until she was breathless and his arms had ached.

How on earth had he let things come to this?

“Aw, dammit, Gina,” he swore, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’m doing it all wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right.”

He turned off the TV and VCR, then sat there in the quiet of the family room with his burning eyes shut and his head pounding with questions he couldn’t answer. What was he supposed to do now?

Gina had always done what was right for Kitty. So what would she do for their daughter in this situation? “Come on, Gina, tell me what to do,” he whispered, burying his face in his hands and trying to form a mental picture of his wife.

Unfortunately, the image that appeared in his mind was all wrong. Instead of Gina’s short black hair and loving dark eyes, Ms. Walsh’s blond ponytail and accusing green eyes appeared before him. Her steady gaze held pity for him, but if the image could speak, he suspected it would call him an idiot or worse.

He knew what he had to do, but his gut knotted and an automatic protest sprang to his lips. Ask Ms. Walsh for help? No way. Even the idea made him shudder, but he had no other choice.

His number-one priority was taking care of Kitty. No matter how much he hated doing it, it wouldn’t kill him to swallow his pride. He’d call Ms. Walsh first thing on Monday morning.

If you wait, certainly you’ll find a way to justify not calling her.

Muttering “All right, all right,” Jack looked up Ms. Walsh’s phone number and dialed it. The phone rang three times, and only then did he think to look at the clock. Damn. It was after midnight. Just as he was about to hang up, she answered.

“Hello?”

He felt like a jerk, but since he had her on the line, he might as well get this done. “Ms. Walsh, this is Jack Granger.”

“What time is it?” Her voice was soft and slurry with sleep, and it had an unnerving, surprisingly sexy rasp to it.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” he said quickly. “I’ll call back in the morning.”

“Don’t do that,” she said with a prodigious yawn. “I’m awake now. Just give me a second.”

He heard a rustling sound and found himself wondering what she wore to bed. Cotton? Silk? Nothing? Oh, jeez. Before he could ask himself why he was even thinking about Ms. Walsh in that context, she came back on the line.

“All right. What do you want, Mr. Granger?”

Thank God she didn’t know how loaded that question sounded at the moment. “You were right.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he grumbled, scowling at the squeak of surprise in her voice. “You were right about Kitty. Meet me at the school tomorrow. One o’clock.”



Abby blinked. Unable to believe what he’d just said and the dictatorial tone in which he’d said it, she held the receiver away from her ear and silently counted to ten before speaking again—slowly and distinctly. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“So?” he snapped. “Don’t you teachers ever work on weekends?”

“No. We don’t.” She shifted into the same bright tone she used with first graders. “But you know, if I didn’t have plans for tomorrow and you had phrased that as a request instead of an order, I might have been willing to think about making an exception for you.”

There was no way he could misunderstand that message. She grinned at the stunned silence on the other end of the line. Oh, she’d give a month’s salary to see his face right now. She heard him take a deep breath.

“Ms. Walsh, please—” he said.

He sounded as if his teeth might be gritted.

“—I would sincerely appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to change your plans and meet me in your classroom tomorrow.”

“That’s much better,” she said.

“Then you’ll meet with me?”

Hoo-boy, he really sounded steamed. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m signed up for a fun run at Manito Park, and then—”

“Fun run?”

He had a bad habit of interrupting her. “Yes. And I don’t intend to miss it.”

“What about after the fun run?”

“I’m baby-sitting for the rest of the weekend—not that it’s any of your business.” It was the price she’d had to pay for Erin’s expert opinion about Kitty. “I’m free after school on Monday.”

After another long silence, he replied in such a grudging tone that she had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.

“All right. I’ll meet you at the school on Monday afternoon. Say, four o’clock?”

“Fine. Try to be on time. Good night, Mr. Granger.”

Without waiting for his reply, she hung up and flopped back on her bed, giggling. Oh, dear, this had to be a difficult time for him but he most definitely did not “play well with others.” He really needed to learn that he couldn’t run roughshod over other people, including his daughter and his daughter’s teacher.

But thank God, he’d finally agreed to get Kitty the help she needed. Now she could let Erin take over, gracefully bow out of the Grangers’ lives at the end of the school year and get on with earning her doctorate.



Jack spent the night fitfully rolling around in his bed, rehashing his conversations with Ms. Walsh and worrying about Kitty. By sunrise he gave up all hope of sleeping and dragged himself down to the kitchen. After putting on the coffee, he walked out to the road for the paper, scanning the front page on his way back to the house.

In the lower-right corner he spotted a teaser for a five-mile run to promote women’s health programs. He’d bet his next conviction that Ms. Walsh would be there. And so would he. Now that he knew Kitty needed help, he wanted to get on with the process. The sooner the better.

After leaving Kitty with his brother Dan, Jack arrived at Manito Park and made his way to the duck pond, the most logical place to put the finish line. Sure enough, there it was, complete with a big digital clock and a race official calling out individual runner’s times as they ran past him.

The jovial atmosphere took him back to his high school and college days when he’d been on the cross-country team. He felt a moment’s envy of the participants who were in good enough shape to run an eight-minute mile. It had been a long time since he’d found the time and energy to go for a run. Too long.

Hands in the front pockets of his khakis, he prepared to wait however long it took for Ms. Walsh to straggle in after running five miles. If she actually could run that far.

“Look, there she is,” shouted a little boy standing in front of Jack. “Way to go, Ms. Walsh!”

“Thirty-nine minutes and thirty-six seconds,” the official called.

Startled, Jack looked at the woman charging toward him and found himself doing a double-take. Her hair was plastered to her head with perspiration and pulled back in the usual ponytail, which was now puffed out in a mass of springy curls. Her face was red and glowing. She wore a white mesh singlet over a black sports bra, a red sweatband across her forehead, purple running shorts that showed off the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen and a worn pair of running shoes that proclaimed her to be a dedicated runner.

Man, did she ever look trim and fit. Still, teachers were like nuns and mothers. They weren’t supposed to have sexy legs like that, or slim, toned arms. Ms. Walsh ran past him, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Teachers, mothers and nuns weren’t supposed to have tight, round little bottoms that made a man’s hands itch, either. He felt like a pervert for even thinking such thoughts about his daughter’s teacher, but he’d have to be dead not to react to seeing her showing that much skin. And it sure didn’t stop him from liking what he saw.

Ms. Walsh looked so…healthy. So full of life. So damn sexy, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Who would’ve guessed that under her long, flowing skirts and soft, colorful blouses was a body like that? Oh, boy, he had to stop staring at her, stop trying to envision what she might look like completely naked. She already disliked him intensely. If she ever realized he thought she was…hot—oh, he didn’t want to go there.

Slowing to a trot, she grabbed a paper cup of water from a volunteer, downed it in one gulp, then took another. She tossed the cups in a trash barrel and ran slowly toward the parking area. Jack called her name and waved one arm.

She glanced around, jogging in place until she spotted him. Ignoring her immediate frown, he hustled to join her. “Nice race,” he said when he reached her.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Granger?” she asked, still jogging in place.

“I want to talk to you about Kitty.”

“We have an appointment on Monday. Right now, I need to cool down.”

With that, she took off, maintaining a steady pace. Cursing under his breath, he went after her. He’d already wasted too much of his time this morning to let her get away from him now. His legs were so much longer than hers, he kept up with her by walking fast.

“Come on,” he said. “You’ve been after me to get Kitty into counseling for a long time. I’m finally ready to do it, and you’re not willing to help?”

“Not today,” she said. “If you want to help Kitty this weekend, take her out somewhere and have some fun. I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”

Veering off to the right, she gave him a jaunty wave and ran back toward the duck pond. Jack stood there watching her, anger and confusion warring inside him. And there was something else he couldn’t deny—a dose of lust. It was a hell of a time for his damn libido to wake up.

“I am not attracted to that woman,” he muttered to himself all the way back across town. When he arrived at his brother’s duplex, he found Dan, who was three years his junior, out in the garage working on his pickup. Dan wore jeans, hiking boots and a Spokane Police Department T-shirt.

He looked up when Jack entered the garage, showing a smudge of grease on his forehead. “That didn’t take long.”

Jack shrugged. “Where’s Kitty?”

Dan tilted his head toward his neighbor’s half of the building. “Marla took the kids to a movie and invited Kitty to go along. They’ll be back soon. Did you find Kitty’s teacher?”

“Yeah,” Jack grumbled, walking around to the front of the truck. “What’re you doing?”

“Changing spark plugs.” Dan shoved a droplight into Jack’s hands and ducked in under the hood. “A little more to the right— Yeah, that’s it. So, what happened at the race?”

“That woman wouldn’t even talk to me.” Jack gave his brother an edited description of his recent encounter with Ms. Walsh. Instead of garnering him the sympathy he expected, the story made his dumb brother burst out laughing.

“Good for her,” Dan said. “It’s about time.”

“About time for what?” Jack demanded.

“For somebody to treat you like you’re normal.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Dan ducked back under the hood. “Everybody’s been walking on eggshells around you since Gina died.”

“No way,” Jack protested.

Dan snorted. “Oh, big time, bro. Everybody felt terrible for you and Kitty. When you were impatient and irritable, we made allowances for you, but it’s past time somebody made you mind your manners.” He straightened away from the pickup and met Jack’s gaze head-on. “That’s all Ms. Walsh did, you know.”

Jack stared at his brother in slack-jawed disbelief. “You’re full of it, Danny. I have excellent manners.”

“Not anymore,” Dan told him. “You act like you’re the only one with a busy schedule and your time is more valuable than anyone else’s.”

“Well, maybe it is,” Jack said. “I know you don’t always think so, but my job happens to be damn important.”

“Yeah, it’s important.” Dan grabbed another spark plug and leaned over the engine again. “But it’s still just a job.”

“So, it really doesn’t matter that much if I let a few killers and sex offenders slip through the system. Who cares if they’re back out on the streets?”

“See? There you go. That’s exactly what I mean. You act like it’s this big mission and only Jack Granger can—”

“Give me a break.”

Dan raised up abruptly, banging his head on the underside of the hood. Cursing, he rubbed the sore spot. “You’ve had enough breaks. If you don’t watch yourself, your ego is going to get completely out of control.”

“Cut it out. I’m not like that.”

Dan pointed his socket wrench at Jack. “If you believe that, you’d better stop and take a long look at yourself, bro.”

“So what are you saying?” Jack tossed his free hand up beside his head. “I shouldn’t do my job?”

“Hell, no. You just have to remember you’re not the only prosecutor in this county, and you can’t be responsible for every conviction. Face it, no matter how many killers you put away, you’ll never be able to get the one you really want.”

Jack stiffened at the veiled reference to their father. “That’s enough.”

“Says who? I admire the hell out of that teacher for not putting up with your bull. You’re real good at making people back off from touchy subjects, but you need to hear the truth about these things, even if you don’t want to. Especially if you don’t want to.”

“And where did you get your Psych degree? The Police Academy?”

Dan grabbed the last spark plug. “I don’t need a Psych degree to figure out any of us. Mark and I are cops because of Dad, and you’re a prosecutor because of Dad’s killer. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, ever since Gina died you’ve buried yourself in your job. It’s not good for you and it’s not good for Kitty. And your manners stink.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Jack asked. “Give me an example.”

“That’s easy. When you called this morning, you didn’t ask me to take care of Kitty for you—you told me to. I didn’t have anything more interesting going on this morning, so I didn’t mind helping you out this time.”

“But you have at other times?”

“Only because you ordered me around like I was ten. I’ll bet you did the same thing to Kitty’s teacher.”

Squirming inwardly, Jack set the light on the workbench. “Not intentionally.”

“I know that,” Dan said, “but I doubt that teacher does.”

Jack looked back over his shoulder at Dan. “What do you suggest I do about it?”

“Well, there’s this thing Mom used to talk about—” Dan’s eyes glinted with humor. “I think it’s called an apology.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack grumbled. Apologies had never come easily for him, but Ms. Walsh had been a big enough person to give him one when she’d crossed the line. He leaned back against Dan’s workbench, folded his arms over his chest and crossed one foot over the other, watching Dan check the power steering fluid and then wipe his greasy hands on a shop rag.

“Does Mark feel the same way about me?” Jack asked, referring to the youngest Granger brother.

“Ask him,” Dan said.

“That means yes.” Jack uttered a grim laugh and shook his head. “It’s hard to argue with a unanimous verdict.”

“Look, maybe I came down on you too hard,” Dan said. “I mean, you’re not a total jerk.”

“Knowing I’m only a semi-jerk makes me feel much better.”

Grinning, Dan punched his arm. “C’mon, you know what I mean. It’s just that you’re going to need the teacher’s help. For Kitty’s sake, you can’t afford to alienate her.”

“I hear you,” Jack said. “I’ll go see Ms. Walsh on Monday and make nice, and we’ll get Kitty back on track.”

Dan led the way into his kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. “It sounds like Kitty needs more than that. Why don’t you take a leave of absence?”

“Are you nuts?” Jack demanded. “How can you even think about saying that?”

“Maybe because your kid needs you?”

“Yeah, I got that part from Ms. Walsh, believe me.”

“So, learn to delegate. No time like the present.”

Jack helped himself to the coffee. “It’s not that easy. I have ongoing cases.”

“You took time off when Gina died, and the world survived.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jack said, wondering why everybody else in the world knew what he should be doing better than he did.




Chapter Four


Mr. Granger phoned Abby at noon on Monday and asked if she would mind changing their meeting place to a coffee shop not far from the school. A frequent customer of the establishment, she readily agreed. When the dismissal bell rang, she stuffed a file into her satchel and made a quick stop in the teachers’ lounge to freshen her makeup and comb her hair. Then she was out the door and on her way.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/myrna-temte/handprints/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.