Читать онлайн книгу «My Three Girls» автора Susan Floyd

My Three Girls
Susan Floyd
Can Deputy Brady Moore, a man desperate to protect his brother's children, convince Dana Ritchie, a woman desperate to protect herself, to be his wife?Brady's only asking Dana to be a temporary wife. After all, he can hardly expect a woman he's just met to spend the rest of her life with him and his three nieces. If there was any other way to keep the little girls from entering "the system," he wouldn't even ask.Dana's more than reluctant to accept. She once loved a little boy who wasn't hers and lived to regret it. If she gives her heart to the children and then has to watch them walk away, she might never recover. But how is she ever going to resist these three girls?



“Are you going to take us?”
Karen asked the question with such hope, and Dana was glad she didn’t have to disappoint the little girl.
“Yes. Your uncle Brady and I are going to get married on Friday, so you can stay here.”
Karen’s eyes went wide and then filled with tears. In an attempt to soothe her Dana said, “I know this is all happening very fast. But we’re not going to try to be your mom and dad.”
Karen shook her head. “I used to pray that you’d be our mother. You were always so nice to us. I loved my momma, but she didn’t love us back.”
Dana didn’t know what to say. This sweet girl was giving so much of herself, but Dana couldn’t do the same. Brady kept telling her this was only temporary. If she gave her love to the children and then had to watch them walk away, she might never recover. How was she ever going to resist these three girls?
Dear Reader,
This book started with a newspaper article my late father had saved for me about a one-room schoolhouse. “Hey, look at this, Sus,” he said with a grin. “Wouldn’t this be a great story?” Unfortunately, my father isn’t here to witness his kernel of an idea come to fruition, but I still like to thank him for his inspiration, which led to this story.
Now take three abandoned children starving for love, a schoolteacher reluctant to ever become attached to any of her students again and a deputy sheriff racked with guilt because he believes the children’s plight is the result of actions he took several years before. Mix them all together, stir in generous amounts of chaos, unresolved feelings and long-kept secrets and bake with a marriage of convenience. Season with healing and forgiveness. Is this the recipe to make a family?
Join Dana Ritchie and Brady Moore as they wade through this crazy thing we call life and together discover that two are stronger than one. You—my readers—mean everything to me, and I love to hear from you. You can write to me at P.O. Box 2883, Los Banos, CA 93635 or by e-mail at susfloyd@yahoo.com.
Sincerely,
Susan Floyd

My Three Girls
Susan Floyd

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book took the work of several people from San Benito,
Monterey and Merced Counties.
Heartfelt thanks to:
Monterey County deputy sheriffs
Greg Liskey, Mike Richards, Larry Robinson
and Jeff Stiarwalt (for the adventurous “ride along”).
Merced County deputy sheriffs
Tomas Cavallero and Richard St. Marie (for brainstorming
at the Los Banos Campus Career Fair).
Panoche Elementary School District, San Benito County
Ginger Gardner, Teacher and Principal
Elsa Rodriguez, Teacher’s Aide, Cook, Janitor
and Groundskeeper
Mario Bencomo, 5
grade Aaron Blanco, 7
grade Ian Blanco, 5
grade Dustin Borba, 1
grade Alyssa Cabral, 4
grade Chantelle Lippert, 7
grade Jacob Lippert, 6
grade Zoa Lopez, 6
grade Tristan Redondo, 2
grade
This is dedicated to all my students at Merced College,
Los Banos Campus, who have brainstormed titles, offered
plotting advice and understood the value of a “redo.”

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

CHAPTER ONE
DANA TUGGED at the collar of her sleeveless cotton dress, feeling a damp film of sweat on her sternum. Indian summer in California’s Panoche Valley was just more of the same—dry and brittle, the victim of a scorching summer. Cattle on the rolling hills searched for shade and found it at the chain-link border of a one-room schoolhouse, a green oasis of non-native shade trees nestled in a valley of brown.
Dana glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was nearly six on a Friday, but it wasn’t strange that she was still at work. When she was twenty-four, Dana had taken on the role of principal and teacher at one of the smallest schools in California’s Central Valley, a job that took someone who was either a loner or a certified workaholic.
Dana was both.
For the past five years, she’d embraced the isolation, hoping that work and the dark, still nights could wrap her in a protective blanket. It hadn’t always been that way. There was a time, new teaching credentials in hand, she had taught in an urban school filled with low-income children even more thirsty for the safety school offered than for the subsidized cartons of milk. She’d had colleagues then, a few she might call friends, but those faces were a blur now. The only face she saw with heartbreaking regularity was the one she tried not to see, the one permanently imprinted in her vision like a sunspot. Round cheeks, clear brown eyes, a shock of black hair.
Dana reached over and jerked down the shade. The temperature of her west-facing office dropped ten degrees. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about him, what he’d be like as a teenager. With brisk movements, she began to sort through the forms on her desk, prioritizing the night’s work. Even though she only had twelve students, she needed to fill out the same reports that the larger schools did. Fire safety, student evacuation plans, building and lighting requirements.
If she filled out enough forms, if she buried herself in her work, the unbearable pain became a dull knot where her heart once was. That had been a successful strategy for five years, but now that the frenzy of developing lesson plans, organizing the school year and implementing the latest state-mandated curriculum had become more routine, the grief she’d thought she’d been able to sidestep dogged her relentlessly. Her mother had told her in her no-nonsense manner that the loss of a child, even if the child wasn’t hers, was something that no one ever got over, and that she needed to face her grief rather than run away from it. Dana disagreed. Grief could be put off if one kept busy enough.
Which was why this situation was perfect for her. After all, how many people could boast of no commute, no neighbors, no true boss, except for the school board who supported every one of her efforts to update the small school? When she finished her day’s work, which generally wasn’t until nine or ten in the evening, she just walked fifty feet to the district-owned, two-bedroom cottage she called home, ate a sandwich or a bowl of cereal and flopped into bed. On Saturday, she would return to the schoolhouse to work on the endless list of minor repairs it needed. On Sunday, she would clean and set up the classroom for the following week. It was a wonderful system that had kept the terrible waves of depression at bay for years.
“Hellooo?” a singsong voice called.
Dana’s head snapped up at the intrusion. No one ever came onto the school property after school hours unless it was parents’ night. But that only happened twice a year. She pushed away from her desk and poked her head up over the file cabinets.
“Hello? Miss Ritchie?”
Dana groaned when she recognized the person and the oh-too-sweet-voice at the same time. Beverly Moore. The only parent she had personality conflicts with. Maybe it was because Mrs. Moore was new and hadn’t quite acquired small-school etiquette. Most of her parents traveled as far as forty miles to drop off their children, and Dana did what she could to accommodate their schedules, since they didn’t have a lot of time for chit-chatting. Most lived and worked on ranches or farms so rural that running water was a luxury. Like the school’s, their electricity was gleaned from a generator. When the parents picked up their children at two-thirty, they were single-minded in their efforts to get back to their properties. Livestock needed to be fed, fences needed to be mended. Dana used the snatches of time before and after school to update them quickly on their children’s progress or lack thereof.
Mrs. Moore, whose three daughters had enrolled at the last minute but made up a quarter of her class this year, was a parent of a different caliber. The family lived in a house just two miles from the school, and Beverly Moore seemed to believe that Dana was a built-in baby-sitter. Dana could count on the fact the Moore girls would be the first ones dropped off in the morning, some times an hour early, and the last ones picked up—often by two or three hours. They were occasionally dropped off on weekends so they could play on the school grounds, too.
Dana didn’t appreciate the added responsibility, but the girls kept to themselves and weren’t destructive in any way, so she let it slide. Eventually she’d become used to hearing Karen bark orders at her younger sisters, and Ollie, the youngest, scream with delight.
“Miss Ritchie?” The voice was getting closer, along with the distinct clicking of high heels.
Mrs. Moore’s perfume reached Dana before she did.
Dana summoned a stiff smile and called, “Yes?” She stepped out from behind the file cabinets.
The other woman stopped short. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re here. I knocked on your door, but when there wasn’t an answer, I took the chance you’d be in the school. I saw your car, so I knew you hadn’t gone anywhere.”
One good reason why Dana should park in the garage.
“What can I do for you?” Dana said, her voice as crisp as she could make it. She even crossed her arms over her chest, hoping that Mrs. Moore was attuned to nonverbal communication.
No such luck.
“I need the biggest favor from you.” She smiled as if Dana were her closest and dearest friend, then placed a manicured hand on Dana’s forearm.
Dana worked not to flinch; she didn’t want people touching her. She removed herself from the contact. All that did was give her a better look at the other woman’s ensemble. The manicure, the heels, the perfume all set off an impeccable beige linen suit. Dana eyed the cream silk camisole with something that she might have called envy a lifetime ago. Despite the heat, Beverly Moore looked cool and composed. Dana felt every inch the dowdy schoolmarm.
“I know it’s an imposition,” Beverly continued, as if Dana’s silence was consent, “but I’ve been called out of town and I’m just not able to get a baby-sitter.”
“No.” The word was out of her mouth before Dana could stop it.
Even Beverly looked taken aback. “No? You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“To baby-sit, maybe?” Dana raised an eye brow, her voice dry.
Beverly had the grace to flush. “It would only be for the weekend.” She spoke rapidly as if speed would convince Dana to grant her the favor.
“No.” Dana had been down that road once before. First, it was baby-sitting, then foster care, then— “No!” She turned her back. “School is out for the weekend.”
“It’s a very important business conference I need to attend. I’ll be back on Sunday.”
Sunday? Dana didn’t dare look at the woman in case eye contact would be considered assent. What would she do with the Moore girls for two whole days?
“I can pay—”
Dana turned, feeling her face get red. “I don’t need money.”
Beverly Moore shrugged, looking at Dana’s clothes, her gaze fastening on Dana’s serviceable shoes. “I’d make it worth your while.”
“I don’t think you could,” Dana replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a great deal of work to do. I hope you find someone.”
The woman’s lipsticked mouth pinched tightly together, but finally she nodded and left, heels clicking across the linoleum. With the final bang of the closing door, Dana expelled the breath she was holding. Then she crossed the room and locked the door before settling back in her chair and picking up the form on the top of the pile. She studied the fine print and began to fill it out.
The front door handle rattled.
Dana’s back stiffened. Surely Mrs. Moore couldn’t be back.
“Miss Ritchie?” The voice came sailing toward her through the locked door, as cheerful as if they hadn’t had the previous conversation. Dana stayed silent, hoping Mrs. Moore would think that she’d gone back to the house.
“I know you’re in there,” the woman said. “I know you haven’t gone. The girls say you don’t ever go anywhere.”
Dana kept her head down and tried to concentrate on the form in front of her. Then a persistent knocking started.
How long could she keep that up? Eventually, her knuckles would be raw and—
“I’m going to keep knocking until you open this door.” Mrs. Moore was sounding rattled and the knocking changed to pounding.
Dana popped to her feet, angrier than she remembered being in a long time. She crossed to the door with several impatient steps. This was her private time. “I told you—”
Mrs. Moore stood on the concrete entryway, this time with her daughters, Karen, Jean and little Ollie, positioned in front of her, all clutching small backpacks.
“Hi, Miss Ritchie.” Karen spoke first, her voice uncertain as she glanced up at her mother.
“Mrs. Moore.” Dana frowned.
“Bev. Call me Bev.” She waved her hand toward her daughters. “The girls want to thank you for agreeing to take them this weekend. They like you so much.”
Dana doubted that. The girls interacted as little as possible with the other children and her. The eleven-year-old, Karen, seemed to take exception to any attention that was paid to the younger girls, Jean, six, and Ollie, just five. They were well mannered, although Jean retreated so often to lengthy silences it was easy to forget that she spoke at all. Dana also noticed both Jean and Ollie had the curious habit of kicking the supply closet every time they passed by. The third time Dana had to wash off the scuff marks, she’d asked them not to do it. Jean had answered with a staring silence, and Ollie’s eyes had filled with tears. The brief discussion hadn’t saved her cabinet, though. The two girls simply kicked with more stealth.
“Uh, thank you, Miss Ritchie,” Karen blurted, nudged by her mother. “We’ll be very good.”
“This is blackmail,” Dana said to Mrs. Moore.
“I’m desperate or I wouldn’t put you in this position,” she said. From her voice and the way she glanced over her shoulder, it seemed to be the first truthful statement Beverly Moore had made.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t take the girls.” Dana was firm. She wasn’t going to be railroaded into this duty. She wasn’t the only option that Mrs. Moore had. She was just convenient. “You might consider taking them with you.” With that, Dana shut the door and tried to lock it, but her hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t turn the dead bolt properly. The knocking started again.
“Go away!” Dana muttered under her breath, eventually managing to lock the door. “Leave me alone.” She put her hands over her ears and walked back to her office, then turned on her small radio to drown out the knocking. After a while, it stopped, but Dana’s heart still kept pounding. She worked for two more futile hours, not really accomplishing anything.
She stared at the pile of work on her desk. Nothing said she had to finish it tonight. She would spend tomorrow morning making the repairs and reattack the pile in the afternoon. She had no other plans. She walked around the perimeter of the schoolroom, checking to make sure she’d turned off the computers. If she had her way, she’d never leave the schoolhouse. It gave her the comfort that her home didn’t. Finally, she unlocked the front door and opened it. The air was cool, pleasant, a significant difference between summer and fall. In fact, Dana shivered in her sleeveless dress as she closed up. Movement caught her eye, and the motion sensor turned on a bright light.
Dana whirled. Surely the cattle hadn’t pushed through the fence again. She’d have to call the rancher who owned them before they trampled the students’ agriculture projects. She tried to focus on the movement in the deepening dusk. Since she was standing in the light, it was hard to see what was out there.
“Hi, Miss Ritchie,” a small voice called.
“Karen?” Dana walked toward the voice.
“Yes, Miss Ritchie?” The voice was still uncertain, and Dana could swear she was holding back tears.
“What are you girls doing here?” Dana’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. She could make out three figures at the picnic table where the children ate lunch on nice days. Ollie was standing on the table, swaying from foot to foot. Karen and Jean huddled together on the bench.
“Momma said to wait and you’d take care of us,” Ollie told her.
“Where is your mother?”
There was a long silence. Then Karen said, her voice brave, “She went to a conference. She said to tell you that we promise to be very good and that she’d be back Sunday afternoon.”
Dana inhaled, warning bells going off in her head. This had to be against school policy. There had to be some rule about keeping students at her personal residence. If there wasn’t, there should be. If Beverly Moore was going to leave her children, then she deserved to have the authorities called in.
“I’m hungry,” Ollie said, hopping from the table to the bench and then the ground. “Momma said if we asked nice, you might give us some supper.”
“You don’t have to feed us,” Karen interjected. “I made us sandwiches.”
Ollie started to whine. “But I don’t like—”
“Hush. She might let us spend the weekend if she doesn’t have to feed us.”
Dana felt more emotion pulse through her in sixty seconds than she’d allowed in the past five years. She’d chosen this job in the middle of nowhere to avoid feeling anything. Now white, scalding anger was directed at Beverly Moore, wherever she was. How dare she abandon her children as if they were overgrown vegetables easily left on the doorstep of unwary neighbors. But the tearstains on Karen’s face had her fighting for control.
“I don’t mind feeding you. Then I’ll call some nice people to give you a place to stay.” She tried to smile, but her face felt like it was cracking in half.

FRIDAY NIGHT was generally busy, but tonight, Brady Moore’s usual rounds were quiet. He didn’t know how many miles he’d driven that night along the county roads that wound from the Gabilan Mountains to the Diablo Range without seeing anything worrisome. No drunk drivers. No speeders. Always a bad sign. In his fifteen years as a sheriff’s deputy for San Benito County, the quiet evenings were the ones that ended in something bad.
The dispatcher came over the radio. “There’s a call from the Panoche School. Three juveniles abandoned.”
“I’m in the south county,” he replied. “Is there someone closer? Or maybe CPS?”
“You’re going to want to take this one, Brady,” the dispatcher said, her voice terse.
“Why?”
“Three girls,” she emphasized. “Last name Moore.”
Brady felt himself stiffen.
“Thought you might want to check it out before we call in CPS.”
His brother Carson had three little girls whose last name was Moore.
Brady didn’t carry around a lot of guilt. He didn’t give a second thought to lying to drug dealers or unbalancing suspects, if it meant that he could clean up his little section of the universe. But it didn’t take much soul-searching for him to realize that he’d been a bit too eager, nearly five years before, to oblige his sister-in-law when she’d told him to never contact her and the girls again.
Only fifteen months apart, he and his brother had grown up together, but even though Carson was older, he’d always been just a little too intellectual, too bookish to fit in well with his peers. That meant Brady had been the one who sold all of his brother’s raffle tickets, fought his battles at school and introduced him to the world of girls.
It was no surprise when they grew up that they’d choose different career paths. Brady went into law enforcement, Carson into accounting. But the differences in their temperament only strengthened the bond between the brothers. Maybe that’s why Brady had been so hurt when Carson had introduced him to his new wife, Beverly. Brady would never have dreamed Carson would give in to the impulse to marry a woman he’d only known twelve hours.
Even though Karen had been born ten months into their marriage, Bev hadn’t seemed happy. But Carson’s loyalty to his wife put an enormous amount of pressure on Brady and his mother, Edie, to accept her. And they’d tried. Since they’d left home, the brothers had always visited their mother once or twice a week. When Carson’s visits dropped to once or twice a month, then eventually only on major holidays, it was hard for Brady not to blame his sister-in-law. Especially once the reason for her unhappiness became clear.
Bev had thought Carson was a lot more successful than he actually was. Carson’s accounting firm had a few good clients and was growing steadily, but the family lived on commissions and the small salary that Carson allowed himself, investing any other profit into the business or Karen’s college fund. Bev wasn’t content being a stay-at-home mom who needed to budget carefully. She wanted more—designer clothes for her and Karen. A nice car and house and furniture. She couldn’t understand why Carson wouldn’t move to the city and work in a big firm with big clients.
In spite of these differences, Brady believed Carson and Bev cared enough about each other to work out their problems. That was confirmed when the joyful pair announced they were expecting a second baby. Jean’s birth was followed almost immediately by the conception of their third, and then all hell broke loose.
Edie—who’d never remarried after the death of her husband—had become sick and four terrible months later died. During those long days and endless nights of treatment and pain and sadness, Carson had managed only two short and awkward visits. In his grief, Brady’s anger and resentment at his brother grew. It would have been nice if just once Brady could have relied on Carson. A month or two later, when Carson was arrested, Brady pretended not to care. His brother had completely changed. The irrefutable evidence showed this once honest and sensitive man had become an embezzler to further his wife’s ambitions. Rather than help his brother through the complex legal system, Brady had turned his back. In what seemed to be just days, Carson accepted the court-appointed lawyer, took a plea and was sentenced to a minimum-security state penitentiary.
Bev, of course, blamed Brady, refusing to see how her own behavior had corrupted Carson. If it hadn’t been for the girls, Brady would have gladly washed his hands of her. She wouldn’t let him see the girls, so his only option was to deposit money directly into her account every month. It assured him that Bev wouldn’t have to work and would maybe compensate for the fact that the children didn’t have a father. It didn’t help the guilt, though, and it didn’t change the reality that his brother was a criminal. More than anything, it made Brady never want to get close enough to anyone to be that disappointed again.
“You still there?” the voice crackled over the radio.
“Yes.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“Should I notify CPS?”
No matter what had passed between him and his brother, no matter how much his sister-in-law hated him, he would not let the girls go into foster care. They were still his family.
“No,” Brady said.

DANA TRIED TO GET through as much of her grading as she could. She spread the papers out before her on the table, feeling very anxious, while Karen, Jean and Ollie lay curled together on her couch. She adjusted her reading glasses and still squinted at the papers in front of her. She’d called the sheriff’s department over an hour ago, but no one had come yet, though it was close to midnight.
Dana’s chest tightened. The girls weren’t trouble. Jean and Ollie had cried a little because they wanted to go home, but Karen had comforted them with adultlike pats and soft words, and they’d quickly settled down.
For their dinner, Dana had scraped together three scrawny peanut butter sandwiches. She rooted through her kitchen cabinets looking for something that came from the fruit and vegetable portion of the food guide. She rose triumphant with a jar of peaches given to her by a parent. Laid out on the Corelle, the dinner didn’t look too bad. Three pairs of large eyes, so stoic that a lesser woman would have wept, stood in the door of the kitchen, not even daring to enter.
“Dinner’s on the table. Why don’t you come in and eat?” she’d invited with a small smile.
“I’m not hungry, Miss Ritchie,” Karen had said, her voice polite. She had her arms around her sisters. Ollie whispered something to Jean, who put her hand to Karen’s ear. Karen listened and then looked up again. She reported, “But the girls are, so I guess they should eat. I don’t need to.”
“Come, all of you,” Dana ushered them into the kitchen and got them seated. She should have put her arm around Karen and let her know that she didn’t have to carry all that responsibility, and that everything was going to be all right. But Dana had done that before.
After the girls were settled and eating, Dana called her mother on the phone in her bedroom. “Have you called the police?” her mother had asked as soon as Dana had explained the day’s events.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Her mother was emphatic. “I don’t want you to get involved. Remember what happened last time.”
Last time.
At first, her concern for the little kindergartener named Adam was strictly professional, then as the situation with his drug-addicted mother became clear, it turned to fond sympathy, followed quickly by a love she didn’t believe she could feel for a child who wasn’t hers. It changed her from a carefree young woman heedlessly taking an ordinary path from college to career to husband to children to fierce protector of the most innocent and underprivileged. No one could have predicted that all the love she’d had for Adam could vanish with one cold and ugly act. After that she’d changed again. This time into a woman who never wanted to be touched—emotionally or physically.
Her parents had stood by her the entire time, never questioning her decision to resign from her position at a progressive urban elementary school to sign on here. They’d simply helped her move. It was then that her mother—with a reassuring peck on the cheek—had warned her about hiding from her grief. But her mother had underestimated Dana’s resolve. Dana was a smart, capable woman. If anyone could dodge grief, she would. She would conquer it by working so hard that her brain became numb.
One of the girls whimpered and Dana was brought back to the present. Karen, Jean and Ollie were fast asleep, their heads hanging at awkward angles. Dana looked at the stacks of papers in front of her, accepting the fact she wasn’t going to get them done. She went over to the girls and straightened them out on the couch, placing a granny-square afghan over them. Adam had lain under this same blanket, giggling as he peered at her through the holes.
Karen opened her eyes. “Are they here yet?”
Dana shook her head. “Soon.”
“Can’t we stay here? This is comfortable.” Her gray eyes were serious. “Momma said she’d be back on Sunday.”
Dana couldn’t keep them until Sunday. That was out of the question. They needed some motherly attention, a bath and clean clothes, real meals. Dana couldn’t give them that.
“You’ll be best off with people who can take care of you.” Dana spoke in a practical tone. She knew where the conversation was leading as Karen’s lips pinched together to keep them from trembling. Jean moaned again.
“Is Jean okay?” Dana asked with concern. Before she could stop herself, she’d moved toward Jean and put a gentle hand on the small forehead.
“She’s fine,” Karen said quickly. “She has bad dreams sometimes.”
Karen nudged her sister with her foot and Jean’s eyes struggled to open. She was disoriented and her face crumpled with fear.
“It’s just me, Jean,” Dana soothed, the waves of some indefinable emotion washing through her. “You’re okay.”
Jean’s face cleared and her eyes closed; clearly she’d never fully woken up.
“You can take us,” Karen said, her voice small but brave.
Her back to Karen, Dana squeezed her eyes tight as she readjusted the afghan. “No, I can’t. It’s not right.”
She ventured a look over her shoulder and felt even worse as Karen’s eyes swam with tears. “Yes, it is. We get along okay at school, don’t we?”
Dana couldn’t answer that question, so she answered one that made her feel better. “A nice lady or man from Child Protective Services will come pick you up and find you a nice place to stay.”
“All of us? Together?” Karen asked anxiously.
“I’m sure they’ll try their best,” Dana hedged and dropped her hands from the crocheted coverlet. She couldn’t adjust the afghan forever.
“Why can’t you keep us?” Karen’s clear treble had a pleading edge to it.
“I’m your teacher. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be baby-sitting you. And we need to know that you’re okay if something happens to your mom.” As soon as the words came out of Dana’s mouth, she wanted to take them back. Karen, if possible, paled more.
“Do you think she’s in trouble?”
This was another one of those situations in which a normal woman would tug the eleven-year-old into a tight hug and whisper heartfelt reassurances. Karen looked as if she would welcome that. Instead, Dana patted her arm. “I’m sure she’s okay. But it’s good that you’ll be with people who can take care of you. Try to get some sleep. They should be here soon.”

CHAPTER TWO
BRADY RAPPED on the door. He checked his watch and adjusted his belt, his heart beating erratically. Ridiculous. This wasn’t a hostage situation; these were just little girls. Of course, it didn’t help that he couldn’t remember their faces or even the littlest one’s name. Olive? Oleander? Would Bev actually name her daughter after a bush? He doubted that. Would he even know his nieces? They certainly wouldn’t know him. He knocked again, automatically surveying the grounds. The school sat to the left of this small house.
“Just a minute,” came the muffled response.
Brady looked at his watch again and stared at the front door. He heard rustling, then the door opened a crack and one eye peered at him. He noticed the flimsy chain on the door and the rotting wood it was clinging to. An intruder would have no difficulty entering this residence. A hefty shove would topple both the person attached to the eye and the door. Hardly safe for a woman living alone. He’d never met the schoolteacher but he didn’t think that an elderly woman should be living out here all alone. He made a mental note to talk to her about safety.
She opened the door a little wider with a breath of relief. “Deputy…” She looked around him as if she was expecting someone else.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
She nodded. “I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“I thought that Child Protective Services would have at least sent a woman, since these are three young girls.”
Brady swallowed, not wanting to lie to her. “I was sent out to evaluate the situation,” he said instead. He wasn’t sure who this was. Was she the schoolteacher’s daughter? He couldn’t stop staring at the freckles splattered across her nose as if someone had taken a paintbrush and flicked it at her. She couldn’t be a day over thirty. Her plain T-shirt was tucked neatly into some well-fitting jeans, making her seem more youthful than she probably was.
She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “I am so glad you were able to get here on such short notice. I’m Dana Ritchie, Panoche School’s teacher.”
Brady hid his surprise as he stepped through the doorway. “You live alone, right?”
“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Is that a problem?”
Brady wondered what was making her so defensive. “No. But you ought to get the door frame done in steel. And get a dead bolt and a peephole rather than that chain. You might want a dog for some additional protection.”
She blinked at him, a small smile coming to her lips. “I’ll talk to the school board about that on Monday. I’m not sure a dog is in my contract.”
Brady stepped farther into the foyer, pulling out his notebook. “Now, what’s the problem?”
She put her finger over her mouth, tilting her head in the direction of the living room. “The girls are sleeping,” she whispered. “They’ve been waiting a long time.”
Brady swallowed. There was always a chance that these weren’t his nieces.
“May I see them?” he asked.
She nodded and quietly walked toward the couch.
Brady looked down at the sleeping girls. Their hair was falling over their faces, so he couldn’t tell. Then the oldest girl’s eyes popped open, wide and gray, guarded.
“Uncle Brady.” It was a flat statement, surprising him. He didn’t think Karen would recognize him. She’d only been seven when she’d last seen him.
“Karen.”
“Uncle Brady?” the schoolteacher asked.
Brady stared at the woman who faced him, her head tilted, her eyes ready to do combat for these girls. “Brady Moore. I’m their uncle, their father’s brother.”

HE WAS THEIR UNCLE. These girls had family! Dana nodded and moved away, leaving Karen and the deputy watching each other. She was sure that he wasn’t displeased by Karen, but he was glowering at the little girl. Surprisingly, Karen didn’t blink. Her jaw tightened, but she never broke eye contact.
Quickly on the heels of the relief that came from learning the girls had family were second thoughts. How could Dana let these girls go off with a man who didn’t even smile?
She glanced at Karen whose fingers poked through the holes of the afghan as she clutched it close to her. She didn’t seem frightened, but neither was she reassured by the presence of her uncle. Dana took a deep breath and surprised herself by laying her hand on his arm.
“Deputy,” Dana said to break the tension. He shifted his sharp gaze to her, and she tilted her chin to stare back. If Karen wasn’t going to be intimidated, she wouldn’t be either. She supposed he couldn’t change the angles of his jaw to make him seem less authoritative or alter the keen intelligence in his eyes to make him appear less intense. She tried not to notice the flat crease of his pants. Meticulous. Not a hair out of place, not a little bit of five o’clock shadow.
On top of that, she noted with irritation, he was damn composed, given the situation he was in. Shouldn’t he show just a smidge of embarrassment at his sister-in-law’s behavior or some other kind of emotion that indicated this was a big deal? If Karen’s reaction was any gauge, they weren’t close. Yet Dana could feel him radiate a peculiar—for lack of a better word—detachment that she found more disturbing than his physical presence. His eyes swept over the room as if he was used to evaluating everything he saw.
She didn’t know why a hot flush began to inch up her neck. She wasn’t ashamed of her modest home. The furniture might not match, the rug was a brown, teal and purple throwback to the seventies, and the only decorations were student art projects from years before, but the place was clean and she liked it. So what if it screamed spinster schoolmarm.
He looked at her hand. “That grip is lethal.”
Her face grew hotter when she realized she’d been clutching his arm. She abruptly dropped her hand and swung it behind her back.
“Maybe you should explain a few things,” she suggested, glancing at the girls, all of whom were awake now.
Instead of responding, he watched the girls get off the couch and move over to Dana—who tried not to appear startled when Ollie’s arm wrapped around her thigh.
“So, who do we have here?” he asked. Apparently, he realized that his glowering wasn’t helping, because he crouched to give them a better look at him and kept his voice even and modulated. It sounded like a voice he used to calm, to hypnotize. Dana was impressed. She didn’t want to be, but she was.
The same couldn’t be said for the girls. They didn’t say a word.
“I’m your Uncle Brady.” He tried again with a smile, addressing Ollie but looking at Karen. “I’m sure you don’t remember me. You were just a baby when I last saw you. You sure have grown.”
Silence.
“I guess your mom is gone?”
Dana had to give him points for trying. She prodded Karen, but the girl wasn’t going to talk. Her gray eyes were huge as she sent Dana a silent plea to intercede.
“She went to a conference,” Dana said, looking at Karen for confirmation.
Karen nodded and tugged on Dana’s arm. “Miss Ritchie,” she whispered.
“Yes, Karen?” Dana kept her voice low, though she knew Deputy Moore could hear every word they were saying.
“Don’t let him take us.” Her face had turned white.
“He’s not going to hurt you, Karen. He’s family.” Dana’s soothing words had the opposite effect on the girl. All the stoicism Karen had shown earlier was suddenly replaced with deep and uncontrollable sobs. Jean quickly started whimpering in sympathy.
The deputy looked at Dana for help, but she didn’t know what to do.
“D-don’t let h-him take us, Miss Ri-ritchie,” Karen begged, her pleas coming out in an agonized rush. “We’ll be good. We’ll be so very good f-for you. We’ll do everything you say and we’ll help around the house. W-we won’t be any trouble.”
Biting her lip, Dana reached out a hand and gave Karen’s shoulder an awkward pat. “Karen, I know this is a scary situation for you…” Even to her, her words were meaningless. When had she became so empty, so devoid of compassion that she couldn’t gather a scared child into her arms and comfort her? Dana felt as if she had a dry piece of bread stuck in her throat. This was how it started. It only took one hug to open a heart. No matter how much Dana wanted to make this situation right, she couldn’t.
She backed away, feeling as alone as Karen looked. She whispered into Ollie’s ear. “I think Karen really needs a hug from you and Jean, don’t you?”
Ollie let go of Dana’s leg and flung her short arms around her older sister. Jean followed suit and together, the three girls sobbed.
“Can you keep them tonight?” a voice asked, low in her ear. She hadn’t even seen him move, but he was right next to her and Dana felt her face flush under his steady scrutiny.
What a cold woman he must think she was. She turned away from him, not too numb to feel a tremendous amount of regret about that. She crossed her arms and pressed them closely to her chest to keep control of any feelings that threatened to erupt from within.
“I think they’ve been through enough,” he continued, just for her to hear.
Dana could only nod as those unwanted emotions easily made their way through her barriers.
“You’ve been through a lot as well,” he observed.
“I’m fine.” Dana made her tone brisk and stepped away from him. She straightened her shoulders.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “When you know me better, you’ll realize I look like this all the time.”

BRADY STARED at the woman in front of him, her body so stiff that it seemed as if she would shatter with the smallest of impacts. No one could look this way all the time. Her jaw was rigid. Her face was pale, her hands clenched into fists that hardened the muscles on her forearms. It seemed to take everything out of her to simply nod.
“It’s pretty late,” Brady said, projecting his voice in order to be heard over the crying. “I think it’s better if we found a place for the girls to sleep here. What do you think, Miss Ritchie?”
“Yes.” The demons she was fighting were gone, and she was back to business. She reached out to the children. “You’ll be fine here tonight.”
Brady watched the schoolteacher stretch tentative fingers toward Karen’s hair. Her hand trembled as if she was afraid she would be burned from the contact. To help her, Brady knelt next to Ollie and put gentle hands on her tiny shoulders. She looked up, tears still in her eyes, but she wasn’t afraid of him.
“I’ll show you where the spare bedroom is,” the schoolteacher said.
Ollie shook her head and hung on to Karen tighter.
With ease, Brady extracted the youngest girl from the trio and lifted her up.
“Oooh!” Ollie exclaimed with a delighted smile.
“Let go of her!” Karen jumped up, trying to grab Ollie. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“It’s late,” Miss Ritchie said. “Your uncle is just taking Ollie to bed.”
Karen stopped jumping, uncertain. “Bed? Here?”
“Yes. Where you should have been hours ago.”
“So does that mean we’re not going with him?”
Brady tried not to feel stung by the relief in Karen’s tone.
“For now. It’s too late for you to go with your uncle. Your mom may make it back by tomorrow. So it’s probably better for you to be here tonight.”
Karen looked relieved and then turned to Brady with her arms open. “Give her to me. We can put ourselves to bed,” she said. After he complied, Jean held on to the back of Karen’s shirt, and the trio made their way down the hall. Ollie looked back over her sister’s shoulder at him.
“G’night.” She gave him a small wave with her fingers.
“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning,” he promised.
Karen turned in front of a bedroom door. “That’s okay. We’ll be fine. You don’t have to come back.” With that announcement, she and her sisters went into the room, Miss Ritchie behind them.
While he waited, he called dispatch and let them know the situation was taken care of, but that he would be at the residence for a while gathering information. He looked at his watch. He only had two hours left on this shift. The call complete, he took a more careful look at the small house. He studied the walls that were filled with a variety of construction-paper artwork. Lopsided snowmen shared equal space with tissue-paper mosaics. In the corner, there was a neat stack of egg and milk cartons. There was also a full box of cans stripped of their labels. He wouldn’t have to be told that a teacher lived in this house.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to find the schoolteacher standing in the doorway. Her hands were behind her back and she stared at him with those dark eyes of hers. There was a pain in them that he couldn’t understand and, for some reason, wanted to. He’d noticed there was no ring on her finger and remembered that the girls called her “Miss Ritchie.” Why was such a young woman holed up in such an isolated place?
She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, so he cleared his throat. “Well, thank you.” It didn’t hurt to start with a thank-you.
“I can’t keep the girls.” The words were surprising in their bluntness.
Before he could discover what had motivated her to say them, Brady had to know what had happened to Bev. “Do you mind going through how the girls happened to be in your care in the first place?”
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, obviously realizing this wasn’t going to be a quick process.
“Yes,” Brady answered easily. The task would give her something to do. Then she might relax enough to give him the kind of information he needed.
Brady watched her measure the coffee and put it into a filter, her movements careful and precise. He tried not to smile when she pulled from the cupboard the smallest coffeemaker he’d ever seen. He could down that much coffee at break fast alone. She obviously wasn’t addicted. She glanced up and their eyes met just for a split second. Brady swallowed hard. For a complete stranger, this schoolteacher had the oddest way of looking right through him.
She hurriedly plugged the coffeemaker into the wall before walking from behind the counter. “Why don’t you sit down,” she offered as she pointed to the table that separated the kitchen from the living room. “The coffee will only take a few minutes.”
Brady sat, and she joined him, placing her forearms on the wooden table. She looked ready to answer questions.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” He made his voice as friendly and conversational as he could. The tone worked, because he could sense that she relaxed a little once she realized he wasn’t going to grill her.
She said, her words stark, “Their mother came by after school today and told me she didn’t have a baby-sitter. She had to attend a conference this weekend and asked me to look after the girls. I told her no.”
“Is that something you did often for Bev?”
She shook her head. “Never. I don’t baby-sit my students. I have them from seven forty-five to two-thirty. That’s all. No other parent has ever asked me to.”
“But you have the children.” He sat straighter. He could see a thin shield of defensiveness creep over her.
“Yes.”
“So why don’t you tell me how you came to take care of the children?”
The question was straightforward enough, but the schoolteacher took a long time to answer. “I found them.”
Brady felt a chill run down his spine. “Where?”
“Sitting on the picnic table.” Her arm gestured in the general direction of the schoolhouse. “I didn’t finish working until nearly nine o’clock.”
“On a Friday?” he asked skeptically.
She flushed. “I have a lot of work to do. I’m not just the teacher. I’m the principal, too. I’ve got a ton of forms to fill out.”
“No offense,” he apologized hastily. “I just thought an attractive woman like yourself would have plans on a Friday night.”
Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “There’s not a lot of action around here after hours. What man in his right mind would drive an hour for a date with a woman who spends her day talking to children?”
Brady would consider it. If those eyes asked him, he’d consider doing almost anything for her.
“The children were sitting out there, waiting for me,” she continued. “Thank goodness, it’s a fairly warm night and that it was me. There’s not a lot of traffic, but those girls were unsupervised for several hours. Anything could have happened to them.”

DANA CLOSED HER EYES as the realization struck her. Anything. Anything could have happened to them and she wouldn’t have known. Some stranger could have abducted them while they waited for her. Guilt pulsed through her.
“That isn’t your fault,” the deputy said.
She lifted her eyes to his as she felt slapped by terrible images from the evening news. There was no censure in his face, just empathy.
He continued on in that deep, rumbling voice. “Anything else?”
She didn’t want to like talking to him. She didn’t want to like the fact that this strange man at her kitchen table made her more comfortable than anyone else she’d met since coming to teach here.
She started to feel sick. She’d been awake too long and she desperately needed sleep, but she was so keyed up that she knew she wouldn’t be able to. She swallowed, pressing her hands together so hard she saw the veins pop out on her forearms. She told herself to relax, but then jumped out of her chair to pour the coffee.
“Cream or sugar?” she asked.
“No.”
“That’s easy,” Dana commented. She held out the cup.
He wrapped his large hand around it and her hand as well. The cup nearly disappeared in his palm and her fingers felt engulfed by his. Dana couldn’t stop looking at his hand, the unyielding, tanned skin and the prominent veins that traveled up his forearm to disappear in the dark hair. She tugged her hand away and sat down, pushing the chair back a foot or two to give herself some breathing room. Suddenly, it was very hot in the house.
“Any idea whether she would go north or south?” His eyes were fixed on her forearms. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows, but his expression remained pleasant.
Dana ran her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t know enough about Mrs. Moore to really know where she went. I’m not sure anymore if it was a conference she had to attend. Maybe it was a meeting.”
“Do you remember what Bev was wearing?” He wasn’t writing, but Dana was certain that he would remember every word.
Dana looked at him in surprise. “Yes.”
“Good.” Dana’s heart thumped as he flashed an even set of teeth at her. He prompted her again, “What was she wearing?”
Dana tried to remember and spoke slowly. “A really nice suit. She had high heels and perfume on. Lots of makeup.”
“Do you know the color of the suit?”
“Taupe.”
“Taupe?”
“Taupe linen, with a cream silk camisole.”
“Oh.” His expression was puzzled.
“Taupe’s like a khaki brown without the green. Tan, with more gray,” she explained.
“Anything else?”
The pause extended for much longer than she expected. He was giving her time to think, but she was only drawing a blank. She wasn’t a very good witness. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Except for the occasional parent interviews, I don’t speak to Mrs. Moore beyond hello, how are you.” Dana stood up, feeling agitated, and then, realizing that her behavior was rude, sat right back down and clasped her hands together.
“I thought this was a small school.”
“What does that have to do with it?” She was starting to get irritated, as if he held her responsible for his sister-in-law’s disappearance.
“I thought at smaller schools pretty much everyone knew everyone else’s business. The schoolteacher especially.”
She felt her back stiffen. “I am not a gossip.” She was beyond irritated. She unclenched her hands and noticed bright red marks on her hands. She crossed her arms.
“I’m not asking for gossip. I’m asking for anything about Bev that could give us some insight into where she might have gone. Would you say that she was a devoted mother?”
Dana had to admire the finesse with which he spoke. Anyone could have been missing by the tone of his voice. Not a close family member. She cleared her throat. “Um, do you want the truth or the politically correct answer?”

BRADY STARED at the schoolteacher. She was alternately vulnerable yet fierce. Compassionate yet so reserved. However, it was the troubled look in her eyes that disturbed him the most.
“What’s the difference?” he asked, making his tone light enough to match her dry one.
“The politically correct answer would be that she allows her children to be very independent.”
“And the truth?”
“She forgets them. They’re here really early and are always the last ones to get picked up. I’ve had to take them home a couple of times, when I wasn’t able to get Mrs. Moore on the phone…” Her voice trailed off and she avoided making eye contact, telling him she thought she’d said too much.
“Is there more?”
Dana studied her nails for a moment before answering. “No.”
“Are you sure?” There was something in her voice that made him press her.
“Yes.”
Brady waited. He knew there was more, probably more than she wanted to articulate. When another minute passed and she still hadn’t spoken, he braced himself. This wasn’t a good sign.
Finally she said carefully, her eyes still on her hands, each word precise, “The children are neglected. I can’t prove it, but there’s something about them that makes me think their home life is less than secure.” She looked up at him. “Their clothes aren’t clean. They aren’t clean. They look neat, but they’re not clean. I don’t have anything to support my feelings, though I’m sure that if I were to put them in the tub, it’d be the first bath they’d had in a long time.”
Brady didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know that Carson’s little girls were neglected. He felt a familiar stab of guilt that he’d used layers of rationalizations to dull. It didn’t hurt any less.
“Do you think Mrs. Moore has abandoned them?” Dana asked, leaning forward. Her dark eyes were intense and Brady felt as if they saw into the deepest, ugliest part of him. He looked away. She couldn’t know. Besides, she had her own secrets. Who was she to probe?
But he had to tell her something. How much?
She continued, “I don’t know anything about their father. Out of state?”
He was embarrassed for Bev, for the girls, for himself. Bev had made it abundantly clear that when Carson “left her,” as she put it, she didn’t want anything more to do with his family. But knowing that didn’t stop him from taking this personally. If Dana Ritchie was right about the girls being neglected, he was responsible.
“My brother is in prison.” The words came out more bluntly than he intended. This schoolteacher was the first person who’d ever heard him utter those words, and he felt shame course through his body. Brady wasn’t his brother’s keeper, but he should have helped Carson more.
Dana didn’t blink. “Oh.”
He emptied the coffee cup and studied the pattern on it. Apples.
“That explains some things about the children. How long has he been in prison?” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She didn’t react with the horror that he expected.

IT TOOK SO LONG for the man sitting across from her to answer that Dana began to wonder if he ever would. But she knew she had to be patient. This clearly wasn’t easy for him.
“Since before Ollie was born.” The words came out slowly and distinctly.
Dana studied his face. His mouth was tight but his hands encircled the empty cup as gently as if it was china. He was a man who carried around a lot of pain. She wanted to tell him she knew exactly how he felt. If she couldn’t do that, she should at least give him a firm, reassuring hug or even a pat on the shoulder.
Instead, she said, “I’m sorry.”
The words seemed trite and for some reason, that made her feel worse. The poor girls. Their father was in prison, their mother gone. Their future was even shakier than Dana had imagined.
“Yeah, me, too.” He smiled. Despite the even teeth, the crinkling eyes and the deep dimples, Dana didn’t believe it for a second. He tucked the pain somewhere behind that smile. Somehow, she knew he worked just as hard as she did, so he wouldn’t have to think about the past.
“Is that why you haven’t seen the girls?” She leaned against the back of a chair. She chose her words with care, sending them out as an exploratory probe.
“Partly.” He stood up and turned to stare at her wall of student art. “I’ve been busy.”
Usually such a rebuff would make Dana back off, but for some reason, she said, “It must be hard to be in law enforcement and have a brother in prison.”
She kept her voice soft. She’d found a kindred spirit in this man who kept as much hidden as she did.
“It happens.” He strode across to the kitchen and put the coffee cup in the sink. Then, as if compelled, he rinsed it.
Dana didn’t want to press, but needed to know one piece of information, “The girls’ father, your brother, isn’t in jail for hurting—” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t bear the idea that those little girls had suffered in other ways, as well.
The “No!” exploded out of Brady, but his back was still toward her. He took a deep breath and then turned around. His mask was on again and his voice reasonable when he spoke. “No. He’s not in jail for any kind of violent crime. It’s—” He didn’t finish.
Dana didn’t blame him. She could feel how tired he was, and her own fatigue responded to it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He shook his head and waved a hand. He pushed himself away from the counter, the smile back on his face. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything. In fact, I should be thanking you for all that you’ve done for the girls.”
“So what happens now?” Dana asked.
“What happens is that I let you go to sleep and I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe by then Bev will have found her way home.”
Dana took a deep breath, relieved that he was planning to return. Having another person around would make this easier.
She stood and started to move toward the front door, pleasantries dying on her lips as a terrified scream came from the bedroom.

CHAPTER THREE
DANA TURNED at the screech of pure anguish coming from the girls’ bedroom. She ran down the hall with Brady right behind her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.”
He stepped in front of the door and rattled the knob. “It’s locked.”
“It can’t be. There isn’t a lock on it.” Dana pushed Brady out of the way. “Karen! Open up.” She shoved the door with her shoulder. “There’s a chair or something against it.”
“Karen, take the chair away from the door,” Brady called.
“No. It’s okay.” Karen’s voice trembled.
“It’s not okay,” Dana said in her best teacher voice. “You need to open this door. We need to see if anyone’s hurt.”
“No one’s hurt,” Karen said with a little more confidence. “You can go away. Sorry to bother you.”
The screaming got louder.
“Who is that?” Brady asked Dana in an undertone.
She listened at the door, trying to figure out what was going on. She could hear Ollie making soothing sounds. “Jean,” she concluded.
“Karen,” Brady cajoled. “Open the door so Miss Ritchie can take care of Jean.”
“It’s okay.” Karen’s brave little voice came through the door. “Jean just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“Let us in,” Dana pleaded.
“It’s okay,” the girl repeated.
“It’s not okay until I see Jean,” Dana said. She turned to Brady, unfortunately finding him close enough for her face to brush against his chest. She looked down and asked, “So do you have a way of kicking in the door?”
“I’m not going to kick in the door.” Brady was adamant.
She rattled the handle.
“Ollie,” she called. “Take the chair away from the door.”
“Don’t do it!” Karen’s order to Ollie was loud and clear.
“Maybe she can help Jean,” Ollie said.
“No. She’s just going to get into trouble.” This was said so low that Dana had to strain to hear it.
“Ollie, let me in. No one’s going to get into trouble. Honest,” Dana coaxed.
“What’s going on?” Brady asked in her ear. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“They think they’re going to get into trouble because Jean’s screaming.”
“She’s nice,” Ollie argued. Dana could tell that she’d moved next to the door.
“But he’s out there.” That was ominous.
“They’re worried about you,” Dana explained to Brady in a whisper.
“Me?”
Dana glanced up at him, surprised that he looked hurt. “You can’t take it personally. You look, uh, intimidating—as if you’re going to take them to jail.”
He knocked on the door. “We both promise that no one will get into trouble.” He had to shout, because the agonized screeches that had started to subside into heartbreaking whimpering were getting louder as Karen and Ollie argued.
“I’m going to open it,” Ollie declared.
They heard a fumbling at the door and then it swung open. Jean—her face contorted with terror—was curled in the corner of the sofa bed that Dana had pulled out for the girls to share.
Karen tried to block their view of Jean. “She’s going to be okay. If you have to put someone in the closet, then it should be me. You can’t put Jean in the closet. She doesn’t mean to have bad dreams.”
Dana shook her head, wanting to believe there was some other reason that Karen had come to this conclusion. “Why would we want to put any of you in the closet?”
“That’s what you do.” Karen’s arms were firmly planted on her skinny hips, leaving no one with any doubt that she would defend her sister to the last. The sight broke Dana’s heart. No eleven-year-old should have to bear that much responsibility.
“I don’t. I just want to see what’s wrong with Miss Jean,” Dana scooted around Karen and pulled the shrieking girl into her arms. Sitting on the bed, she nestled Jean on her lap and began to rock, resting her cheek on the child’s grubby head.

JEAN CRIED HARDER as she huddled into the safety of the schoolteacher’s arms. Brady couldn’t remember ever feeling such anger before. In his fifteen years as a deputy sheriff, he’d seen a lot of horrible things, but the neglect and abuse of kids was the worst. True innocents at the mercy of the adults in their lives. If he thought about it enough, he would never go to work.
He made an effort to unclench his hands as he added Karen’s words to the growing pile of evidence against Bev. Something would have to be done and done quickly. Child Protective Services was out of the question. There was no way he’d let the girls get taken and most likely separated. One member of the family institutionalized was enough. Besides, he owed it to Carson not to let these girls suffer anymore. Still worse—what if Bev did show up? Then he’d never be able to get the children into a decent home setting without involving CPS. He had to act before that happened. But what could he do? Even though he was their closest living relative and a deputy, that hardly testified to his fitness as a guardian. If he was married, with a family and a house, there wouldn’t be a problem. The courts would give him custody in a flash. But the fact was he worked odd shifts and had a tiny studio apartment, not exactly the ideal situation for three young girls, even temporarily.
“Did you have a nightmare, sweetie? It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Dana’s crooning broke into his thoughts. She was a natural mother… He immediately rejected the plan that began to form. No. Ridiculous.
Ollie put her hand on Dana’s thigh and looked pleadingly at the schoolteacher, tears brimming in her eyes. “You’re not going to put Jean in the closet, are you? You said you don’t do that.”
Dana shook her head. “My closets are for coats and school supplies. I don’t think Jean would make a very good school supply, do you?”
Ollie looked puzzled. “What would she be?”
Dana frowned, thinking it over. Brady felt a curious emotion begin to spread through his chest, squeezing his heart like a giant hand. He couldn’t stop watching the schoolteacher and the girls. Ollie’s sweet face was filled with a grave earnestness that Dana apparently could not resist, because she reached out and gave the girl’s plump cheek a reassuring rub. That gesture alone sealed things for Brady. He couldn’t save these kids by himself, but together they could. They could provide a home for Karen, Jean and Ollie. The plan terrified him, even though it made perfect sense.
“Well,” Dana said, answering Ollie’s question with utter seriousness. “I think she’d be an awfully good paper clip.”
A little laugh burst out of Ollie. “But she’d have to lie flat all the time.”
“Could she be a staple?”
“No! Scissors!” Ollie chortled and made a big cutting gesture with her arms.
“She’d have to snip things,” Dana reminded her.
Brady watched in bemusement as Jean’s wails subsided to occasional hiccups. Even though she didn’t say anything, the brightness in her eyes indicated she was listening.
“I know,” Dana told Ollie, giving Jean another squeeze. “Jean could be the paste!”
“She’d have to be really, really, really sticky,” Ollie said, bouncing up and down on the bed. Then she froze and Brady saw a wet stain start to spread across the sheet. Ollie’s face collapsed and her tears returned. “I didn’t mean to.”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Dana asked.
Ollie didn’t say a word, but the tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“I think she’s had an accident.” Brady gestured to the spreading stain.
“Oh.” Dana didn’t blink. She gave Ollie a big smile. “I think you need to go to the potty right now.”
“No cl-cl-oset?” Ollie whimpered.
“You don’t look like a Magic Marker to me. Go sit on the potty right now.” With considerable effort, Dana managed to stand with Jean in her arms, then she moved over to Brady and thrust the girl at him. His surprise must have shown. Dana grinned at him. “It’s either Jean or potty duty. Your choice.”
It really wasn’t that crazy a plan. “I’ll take Jean,” he said, pulling the child close to his chest and being careful not to poke her with the edge of his badge.
Dana nodded as she left the room with Ollie. “I thought you might.”
Brady thought Jean had fallen asleep she was so quiet and still, but when he looked, her huge eyes were peering up at him.
“She thinks you’re going to put her in the closet,” Karen informed him.
“Why would she think that?” Brady made his voice neutral so Karen wouldn’t detect his anger.
“That’s where Momma puts us when we’re bad.”
Brady felt a chill run down his spine. “Your mother shouldn’t do that.”
Karen shrugged. “We always deserve it, and anyway it’s only for a little while. Just a day or so. She’s always nice when she lets us out.”
Brady didn’t want to hear any more. He sat on the bed and turned his gaze to Jean who was tracing the ridges on the seal of his badge with her small index finger. Then, in a move of complete trust, she snuggled closer into him, the sharp bones of her elbows jabbing into his ribs.
He sat that way for what seemed like a long time and analyzed his plan from all angles. If he tried to file for temporary custody on his own and didn’t get it, there would be only two places for the children to go—back to Bev, if and when she returned, or into the system. Neither option was acceptable.
Bev would probably move out of the area, and the poor girls would just be treated like excess baggage until she deserted them again or, worse, found a more permanent way of ridding herself of her children.
In Child Protective Services, the girls might go to a good home, but then again they might not. The likelihood that they’d be split up would be high. Ollie and Jean had good chances to be adopted, but Karen was too old. Crazy as the plan had seemed ten minutes ago, by the time Dana returned to the room with Ollie wrapped in a towel, her cheeks scrubbed to a bright pink, Brady knew the only way to ensure that he would be granted temporary custody of the children by the judge would be if he were to get married. And since there was no woman in his life—certainly no woman the girls would trust—that meant he had to convince Dana to be his bride.
“Sorry it took so long,” Dana apologized. “It was just easier to give her a bath.” She produced three folded T-shirts. “Nightgowns,” she announced, quickly pulling one over Ollie’s head. She handed another to Karen.
“Now, who wants to help me change the sheets?” she said, her voice bright, obviously unaware that while she, Ollie and Karen worked, he was finalizing his plan. It made perfect sense. Not all marriages started with love. She seemed to be a pleasant enough woman and practical, too. Being a schoolteacher in such a rural area proved her dedication to children. He didn’t doubt that he’d grow to love her, in, of course, a brotherly way—over time.
“I think a bath is in order for Miss Jean,” Dana said once the bed was remade. “When I feel sad, a warm bath always makes me feel better. Also, monsters don’t like water.”
“Another bath?” Brady asked.
Dana gave him a small smile that caused a pulse to beat erratically in his throat as she held out her arms for Jean. “Come on, missy.”
Okay, not so brotherly.
“I like baths,” Ollie said sleepily, already snuggled down into the clean sheets. “You make them fun.”
“Thank you, miss. Now, you have a good night’s sleep.” Dana dropped a kiss on Ollie’s cheek. “For Miss Jean, we are going to have a special keep-the-meanies-away kind of bath.”
“I can do it,” Karen said.
Dana looked gently at Karen, “You’ve done so much already, I think you should rest, because you’re going to have to be strong for tomorrow.”
“Still—” Karen shrugged “—I usually do it.”
“I promise to take good care of her,” Dana offered. “Do you mind? I like giving little girls baths.”
Karen looked undecided and then crawled into bed next to Ollie. She ignored Brady and addressed Dana. “He’s leaving, right?”
Dana communicated three different messages with one meaningful glance at Brady.
“Uh, yes.” He started to walk out of the room.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Karen didn’t look pleased, but finally nodded. “I guess that’s okay.”
It was a halfhearted endorsement, but Brady felt as if it was a gift.

DANA RAN a warm bath for Jean, peeling off the filthy pajamas that Dana had reluctantly allowed them to put on earlier. Calm now, Jean happily put her hand on Dana’s shoulder and stepped into the tub.
“Let’s do your hair first. I’m going to put some warm water on it, so close your eyes really tight,” Dana said, her voice soft.
Jean shut her eyes, her face scrunching up with the effort, and Dana poured warm water onto the matted mess. She definitely wasn’t wrong about the children’s lack of hygiene. Only after three washes did Dana feel the little girl’s hair was clean. She was thankful there weren’t any lice.
“Can you wash yourself, Jean?” Dana asked, offering her a bright-orange bath puff.
Jean nodded, took the puff and lathered it up. With earnest determination, she scrubbed her arms, chest and legs. When she finished, she looked up at Dana, who finished off the little girl’s face, neck and back. She was relieved when she didn’t see any marks or bruises anywhere.
“There!” Dana said when she’d finished rinsing the soap off. “The monsters wouldn’t dream of eating such a clean little girl. They hate the taste of soap.”
Jean gave her a ghost of a smile and stepped right into the towel Dana held open for her. Dana closed her eyes and felt a lump in her chest. She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to feel anything for this child. But her heart wasn’t as atrophied as she’d always thought.
Jean patted her face, her little forehead furrowed with concern.
Dana blinked back tears. “I’m fine. You’re just so cute.”
Jean shook her head and wrapped her arms around Dana’s neck. Forcing herself not to reject the kindness Jean offered, she squeezed back, then stood. “Oh, you’re so heavy!”
After she combed out Jean’s hair, she carried the girl to the bedroom, where Ollie slept and Karen had her eyes shut. Shortly, Jean was in a T-shirt, tucked in next to her sisters.
Before she left, Dana pushed back Karen’s hair and kissed her forehead. Then she whispered “Sleep well” in her ear. As she turned off the light, Karen spoke.
“Miss Ritchie?”
“Yes, Karen?”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“I don’t know. But everything will work out in the end.”
“Promise?”
Dana swallowed. “Yes. I promise.”
Karen nodded and pulled the covers over her head as she nestled closer to Ollie.
Dana crept from their room and closed the door, but she could get no farther. She leaned up against the wall, trying to hold back the emotions that surged through her. She couldn’t do this again. Already, she liked these little girls more than she should. She didn’t want to care for them only to have them ripped away. She’d done that once before. In his two months with her, Adam had gone from an introverted six-year-old to a brave and joyful boy. Then—
No. She wouldn’t think of that anymore. She stood straight and headed for the kitchen. These three girls were Deputy Moore’s problem, not hers.
He was sitting at the table, but got up when she entered. “Miss Ritchie.”
“Dana.” She smiled, feeling the fatigue all the way down to her toes. “I think that we know each other well enough now to use first names. Unless that’s against policy or something.”
He shook his head and pulled a chair out for her, a gesture she found oddly touching. Then he sat down and reached across the table to close his fingers over hers.
“Thank you.” His voice was grave.
“For what?” His warm touch was doing something odd to her breathing. He looked different, too. Something about him had changed in the short time he’d been here.
“For what you’ve done for these children,” he answered.
She dismissed his thanks with a shrug. “For being a decent human being?”
“For being a caring human being. I couldn’t have done what you did tonight.”
“Night terrors. It’s common for children.” Suddenly, Adam’s face loomed in front of her eyes. She tried to tug her hand away from Brady’s, but he hung on.
“Thank you,” he said again, stressing the words. “I owe you.”
It was a plain statement, but oddly intimate and filled with emotion. Dana shook her head, almost recoiling from the thought of Brady Moore being in her debt. She could hardly bear to have Jean, sweet-smelling and damp from her bath, touch her. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to see Karen’s rumpled morning hair, the sleep in the corners of Jean’s eyes, the creases left by the pillowcase on Ollie’s cheek. She could protect her heart from those things. But what would protect her from this man’s gratitude?

AS DANA SQUIRMED, clearly discomfited by his appreciation, Brady’s throat constricted. She had no idea the front of her T-shirt was plastered to her. It revealed no more than the outline of her bra and soft curves, but her indifference to her appearance was appealing. He didn’t know what scared him most—the thought she’d say no or yes. He would understand her reasons for saying no. There were a hundred reasons for it, none more compelling than the fact they’d only known each other a couple of hours. Although he had to admit that the intensity of their time together made him feel as if he knew Dana better than some women he’d dated for several months. Still, she was going to think he was crazy.
“Looks as if you took a bath, too,” he commented.
She grinned and inhaled deeply. Brady could actually see her relax.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/susan-floyd/my-three-girls/) 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.