Читать книгу Man of His Word - Cynthia Reese, Cynthia Reese - Страница 15

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE LAST DISH was washed, the grill cleaned, the scraps fed to Rufus and even Landon and Logan were splayed out on the floor asleep in the living room. Daniel looked around for Kimberly, sure she’d want to head home.

Maegan caught his gaze and whispered over the sleeping baby in her arms, “I think she went to check on Taylor and Marissa.”

Daniel couldn’t help but reach out to stroke baby Sophie’s plump cheek. Just as his fingers drew closer, Maegan swatted him away. “Don’t even think about it. It took me a half hour to get my niece asleep, and if you wake her up, she can be your niece again.”

“She is my niece.”

“Funny, ha-ha, you always seem to forget that when she’s cranky and crying, big brother.” But there was no real reproach in Maegan’s voice, just her usual teasing.

“I guess I’d better see if Kimberly is ready to go. I got sidetracked with the dynamic duo...” He trailed off and pivoted toward the back of the house.

“Hey, Daniel...I really like her,” Maegan called after him in a hoarse whisper.

“Sophie?” he asked.

“No, you big lug. Kimberly. And Marissa. I’m glad you brought them out here.”

Daniel nodded, but he wasn’t convinced that it had been his smartest move. He’d viewed it as a consolation prize, a way to give them something when he couldn’t break the promise he’d made so many years ago. Now he worried that it would be harder than ever to keep that promise.

He found Kimberly standing stock-still in front of a bedroom door, the door slightly ajar. Tweenage-girl voices came filtering through it. When Kimberly spotted him, she blushed but held up a finger to her lips.

“—and I thought I had it bad,” Marissa was saying. “You mean you never get to eat a Big Mac?”

“Nope. High fructose corn syrup in the ketchup and the bun. But I get to drink the coffee, so whenever I go with friends, I get me a coffee and sip on it.”

“Wow! You get coffee? My mom would never let me drink coffee. It’s always, ‘Marissa, remember your bleeding disorder,’ or ‘Be careful, Marissa,’ or...I dunno. She doesn’t mean to be a pain, but man, is she ever a helicopter mom. That could be her motto, you know? I am Helicopter Mom. Feel my rotor wash.”

“But you’ve got that cool medical ID bracelet... Wow! I’ve got to get my mom to order one like that. Where’d you say you got it? Mine’s all clunky, like something a fifty-year-old man would wear with pants up to his armpits and a sweater vest,” Taylor declared.

That, along with the rotor-wash comment, was the last straw for Daniel. He felt a mix of laughter and shame at eavesdropping pulse through him, and he tugged Kimberly by the arm and headed down the hall and out the door to the side porch.

“Do you do that a lot?” he asked. “Listen in at keyholes?”

“No. And I got my just desserts, let me tell you. Feel my rotor wash?” She laughed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You know, the two of us are smack-dab in the middle of middle-aged, if those girls think fifty is ancient.” Daniel sank down into the swing and let out a belly laugh.

Kimberly collapsed beside him, closer than she’d been all night. He could feel the silky strands of her hair brush against his arm, smell the scent of strawberries clinging to her as she chuckled along with him.

She lolled her head back on the swing and stared up at the porch ceiling. Her laughter petered out into a rueful sigh.

“I only want to keep her safe, you know? Safe and healthy. But...if I make sure she survives to be a grown-up, will her love for me survive, too?” Kimberly’s words vibrated with a regret and uncertainty that pulled at Daniel. With a team under his command, and the memory of the awful fire that had claimed his father and critically injured several other firefighters, he understood Kimberly’s dilemma perfectly.

He didn’t even realize that he’d clasped her hand in his until he felt her twine her fingers more tightly into his grip. But he couldn’t pull away. Her hand in his fit too neatly, too right.

“It’s a tough job. I’m sort of in the same boat, what with keeping my guys fit and healthy and safe. They don’t see the need for the exercise program I’ve insisted on, or the regular home-cooked meals. You know the number one killer of firefighters in the line of duty? Heart attacks. Not burns, not smoke inhalation, not heat stroke. Heart attacks. Every time I see a fast-food sack in one of my guys’ hands, I can almost picture him keeling over in the middle of a structure fire.”

“But they respect you. I could tell that. Today. They listened to you, they didn’t argue.” Something in the way Kimberly said it made Daniel sure that she didn’t enjoy the same rapport with Marissa. “So how do you keep them safe and not make them hate you?”

“Ultimately it’s easier with guys who need a paycheck,” Daniel admitted. “With kids... Honestly? I don’t know. When I was Taylor and Marissa’s age, I thought I was ten feet tall and bulletproof, too. Still, even with kids... I mean, she’s almost twelve, right? So you can ease up. She knows, Kimberly. She gets it, even if you don’t think so. I see that in Taylor. She may carp and complain, but when someone offers her something to eat, she’s the first one to say, ‘No label? No, thank you.’”

Kimberly snuggled deeper into the cushions of the swing—and tighter against Daniel—as she slipped off her shoes and tucked one foot under her. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat as he noticed the petite perfection of that foot, with the pale pink polish on the toes. Inwardly, he shook himself.

This woman would be gone by tomorrow. What they had here was some sort of fake chemistry, some tenuous bond because of their link to Marissa. It wasn’t real. And even if it was...

Kimberly yawned. In a drowsy, distracted way, she said, “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that Marissa is just four years younger than her birth mother when she gave birth to her?”

Daniel’s body stiffened. It was as if a page to a fire had sounded, her words zapping through him and setting every nerve on high alert. How to answer that? Was this Kimberly’s sneaky way of worming more information out of him?

“What do you know about her birth mother?” Daniel asked in way of a reply.

“Well...not much,” Kimberly said. “I have a copy of the police report. And when DFCS gave me custody of Marissa, they provided me with their own incident report. Maybe the social worker shouldn’t have, I don’t know, but it gave me the bare outlines of the events. Although...I didn’t know Marissa was actually born at the fire station until you told me.”

Again, Daniel was taken back to that day, to that one peaceful, amazing moment when, amid the chaos, he’d held the baby snugly against his chest, astonished that any mother could willingly let anything that perfect go.

Miriam’s pleas came back to him... She’s not safe, Daniel! She’s not safe! He’ll kill her! I know it!

He had turned out to be the baby’s grandfather—Uriel Hostetler. And though Daniel had at first thought Miriam was overly dramatic, the minute he’d spied Hostetler in the hospital’s waiting room, he had to admit he’d never known anyone to have eyes as cold as the tall, hulking man in broadcloth and suspenders. With a flowing head of golden hair and a full beard to match, he’d resembled nothing so much as a lion on the prowl for a hapless gazelle.

Standing in that waiting room, Hostetler had lorded over the entourage that had accompanied him—over Miriam’s own parents, who seemed henpecked and browbeaten and in no way capable of offering the support and protection Miriam so badly needed.

Hostetler had turned out to be the baby’s grandfather, and the leader—some might say tyrant—over the small Amish community that had relocated here.

Daniel had known lots of people of the Amish and Mennonite faith—good, honest folks who worked hard and showed compassion and mercy in their everyday lives.

Uriel Hostetler? He didn’t deserve to be named in the same class of people.

Kimberly’s next question, not to mention the gentle squeeze to his fingers, brought Daniel back to his present dilemma.

“So? Are you ready to tell me?” she asked. Her eyes were huge and seemingly bottomless, filled with hope and pleading as she gazed up at him. “About Marissa’s birth mother? It’s not idle curiosity, I promise. And you of all people—I mean, you understand how it is to have a child in the family with health issues. I have to know. I have to help Marissa.”

A wrenching pain tore through Daniel’s very soul. It would be so easy to say the two words Kimberly desperately wanted—needed—to hear. They were on the tip of his tongue, a nanosecond, a very exhalation away from being uttered.

Miriam’s face floated through his memory, eyes that had pleaded as much as Kimberly’s. She’d trusted him with the most important secret of her life and her baby’s, and had come to that fire station in need of sanctuary.

“Kimberly...I can’t. Legally. Ethically. I can’t. I am so sorry.”

Her pleading eyes turned stony. She leaped up from the swing as though the seat cushions had suddenly ignited beneath her.

“Ethically? You have the nerve to talk to me about ethics? When my daughter’s health—her life—is at stake?”

He rose and tried to take her hands in his, but she shook him off. “Kimberly, you have to see things from my position. There’s a reason that we have safe-haven laws. It’s to protect the babies. Without a safe haven to turn to, Marissa might not have even been alive if—”

“And she might not stay alive if you don’t help me! Don’t you get that, Daniel? What if someone held back information on, I don’t know...a fire, and how bad it was. Maybe it was started with hazardous materials that could kill your—”

He cut her off midsentence. “I get it. I get why you need to know. But can’t you get why I can’t tell you? Just for two seconds, see it from where I’m standing. I’m bound, Kimberly. Legally. The State of Georgia says I can’t.”

Why did he even try to make her to understand? To approve, even? She was never going to.

Sure enough, Kimberly shook her head in disgust and grimaced. “I think I’d like for you to take us back to our hotel now. No. I know I would.”

With that, she strode across the creaking porch boards and slipped in the house without so much as a backward glance.