Читать книгу From Father to Son - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

NIALL GROANED AND PULLED his pillow over his head. It muffled the far-off wails, but didn’t entirely mute them.

What the hell was wrong with that little girl, and why wasn’t her mother fixing her? The kid had been squalling for half an hour or more, and it was three o’clock in the morning. She’d probably awakened the entire neighborhood. He knew exactly when she’d started, because her first screams had inserted themselves neatly into his recurring nightmare about the toddler with the dandelion puff of hair soaked with blood.

Okay, he hadn’t minded that she’d woken him up. If only she hadn’t kept crying and crying and crying.

He should get up and close the window. He could turn a fan on instead. Bonus: it would provide white noise to block those pitiful sobs.

With another groan, he cast aside the pillow, got up and pulled on the pair of jeans he’d discarded on a chair. Not bothering with a light, he chose a T-shirt by touch, then fumbled his way from the bedroom. Outside, he saw that several lights were on in the main house. Good to know. At least Mom wasn’t such a heavy sleeper she’d been ignoring the poor kid.

He rapped lightly on Rowan’s back door, bewildered by why he was doing so. What could he do?

Through the glass inset, he saw her approach, her expression wary until she snapped on the outside light and recognized him. Anna clung to her like a monkey, legs wrapped around her mother’s waist, arms probably choking her.

As Rowan opened the door, Anna’s sobs quieted to hiccuping breaths as she turned a wet, hectically flushed face to Niall.

“I’m so sorry.” Rowan looked distraught. “I should have made up my mind sooner what to do, before she woke you up.”

Anna’s face crumpled. “What’s wrong?” Niall said hastily.

“She has an ear infection. I’ll have to get Desmond up…”

“He’s sleeping?” he asked in disbelief.

She made a face. “Trying. We need to go to Emergency.”

“You’d better get dressed.” He was having to raise his voice to be heard above the renewed sobs.

“Yes.” She looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’d hold her?”

Oh, man. Why hadn’t he stayed in bed?

He’d been trying not to notice that she wore only a T-shirt that reached midthigh. It had a cartoon character on the front, faded by frequent washings. The thin cotton knit fabric clung to her body. Her daughter’s legs, clamped around her, had pulled the hem up almost high enough for him to see whether she wore panties beneath it or not. The speculation was enough for his body to harden despite the squalling kid.

“Uh…sure. If she’ll come to me.” He hesitated, cursing the common decency that had gotten him out of bed and over here in the first place. “Do you want me to stay with Desmond? Or…” He looked at the hysterical little girl. Despite deep reluctance, he said, “Maybe I should come with you. Drive, so you can concentrate on Anna.”

“Do you mean that?” Rowan’s eyes welled with tears.

Hell. Now she was crying, too.

“Of course I do. If it would help.” He found himself holding out his arms and hoping the little girl would go into them, even though normally he would consider that a fate worse than death. “Go on. Get dressed.”

With an especially piercing sob, Anna catapulted herself at Niall. She latched on tight, buried her face against his neck and cried. The rhythmic sobs reminded him unpleasantly of a siren he longed to turn off. Rowan gave him one fraught look, then fled.

Feeling way out of his depth, he bounced the girl a little. “Hey, hey. I know you hurt. We’ll get you all better before you know it. Come on, honey.” He began to walk. He’d heard new fathers talk about walking the baby endlessly. Maybe it would work here, too. “Crying doesn’t help. I think it’s making you feel worse.”

She wasn’t impressed by the argument. She continued to sob, he continued to walk and hold that small, hot body close. It seemed like forever but was probably less than five minutes before Rowan reappeared, dressed in a haphazard way, Desmond at her side. Niall had wondered where Sam the dog was; he hadn’t showed himself when Niall crossed the yard or entered the house. Now he peered cautiously around the door frame but didn’t come any closer.

Smarter than they’d given him credit for, maybe.

They took Rowan’s car since the kids’ safety seats were already in it. Niall drove while she sat in back between them. In his desperation, he exceeded a few speed limits and rocketed to the load/unload zone in front of the emergency entrance at the hospital.

“You take Anna,” he suggested. Please. Please take Anna. “Desmond and I’ll follow you once I park.”

“Thank you.” Rowan clambered over her daughter, unbuckled her and carried her into the maws of the hospital. Niall and Desmond sat without moving or speaking for a moment in the absence of sound. Niall didn’t know about the kid’s eardrums, but his were ringing.

“She gets lots of ear infections,” the boy finally said, matter-of-factly.

“Does she.” Niall gave his head a shake and put the car back into Drive. Maybe he and Desmond could walk really slowly.

Would the doctor only give her antibiotics, or would they be able to do something to take her pain away? A shot of morphine, maybe?

Desmond was able to unbuckle his own seat belt. However, when Niall circled the car to him, he said, “Can you tie my shoes? I can’t see.”

“Sure.” Did he know how to tie them? Niall didn’t remember how old kids usually were when they learned. Sure enough, when he knelt on the pavement he found the laces straggling. He could feel a bony ankle, too; no socks.

Tying this little boy’s shoelaces, Niall had a feeling of unreality. What was he doing here? How had this happened? Why hadn’t he stayed in bed?

I don’t get involved, he thought desperately, but here he was. No. He wasn’t involved, for God’s sake, he was only giving an hour or two to help out a young mother. And it didn’t hurt to stay on his landlady’s good side, right?

A small hand tucked itself confidingly into his. “You’ll be able to find Mom, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ll find Mom.” His smile came out of nowhere. “Hey, all we have to do is follow the sound of Anna crying. We could track her down in the deepest, darkest forest. Never mind a hospital. That’s easy.”

“Yeah.” Desmond suddenly sounded cheerful. “She is kind of loud, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah.”

They walked across the parking lot, lit by sodium lamps. They seemed to be alone out here. The faint crunch of their footsteps was the only sound.

“I’m glad you came.”

Niall looked down at the face turned up to his. Bizarrely enough, he realized that, in a way, he was glad, too. Rowan’s kids could be pains in the butt, no question, but they were okay. Even sweet, in their own way. And Rowan had needed someone tonight. He’d seen it in her eyes.

This isn’t personal, he told himself. I’m a cop. Cops protect and serve. That’s all I’m doing.

All the same, he hoped like hell no other cops happened to be lurking in the emergency room to see him. His reputation as the ultimate loner would be shot.

The glass doors slid open. Ahead he could see Rowan, turning away from the check-in counter, Anna clutching her and crying, but more quietly now. Sadly. Rowan saw him, and the weariness and distress on her face eased. Niall had the strangest sensation under his breastbone. He couldn’t begin to identify it, and didn’t try very hard, only led Desmond over to his mother.

“She’s heavy. Do you want me to take her?” he offered.

He had the thought that this could be atonement for his part in what had happened to that other little girl, in the bank parking lot.

ROWAN WANTED TO CRY AGAIN, which was ridiculous. She hadn’t cried in years, not even when Drew had died. For weeks her eyes had been so dry they burned, and she’d wondered if something was wrong with her. But now, Niall’s kindness was doing something to her. Weakening her.

“I’m okay.” There were only five other people in the waiting room, thank goodness. A man who was leaning over and clutching his stomach, the woman with him watching anxiously, her hand on his back. A scrawny, twitchy, tattooed girl with a bruised, puffy face. And a woman who might be in her forties who was cradling a ten- or twelve-year-old boy close, her tenderness and worry palpable. Rowan went to the closest chairs and sank gratefully down, holding Anna in her lap. Desmond climbed onto the chair next to her, and Niall sat on his other side.

“Did they say how long the wait would be?”

She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be long, though. Since there are so few people here.”

She’d seen him assess every single person in the room, from the receptionist to the ten-year-old, the minute he walked through the sliding doors. Now his gaze lingered on the tattooed teenager who looked as if she’d been beaten up.

After a minute he said, “Desmond says Anna gets these a lot.”

“Yes. The antibiotics always work, but she has a miserable day or so first. I keep hoping she’ll outgrow this.” She rubbed her cheek against her daughter’s hair. “So far, no cigar.”

“There must be a reason.”

How like a man. There was a problem; there ought to be a fix. And he wanted to know—now—why no one had found it.

Obscurely, she found his attitude to be comforting. Maybe only because someone else cared.

Not fair, she reminded herself. Donna and Glenn cared. Except she could tell they thought she was somehow at fault. Because she’d passed on some frailty that ran in her family—certainly not in theirs—or because she let the kids eat junk food too often, or should be cleaning wax out of Anna’s ears, or in some unknowable way wasn’t a good enough mother. The implication was always there.

Niall’s quiet, reassuring presence, the way he was looking at Anna with worry, his implacable tone—as if the doctors were the ones to blame, not her—it was so different, she found herself feeling steadier and, at the same time, less self-reliant. Weaker, she thought again.

“I’m not sure they even look. I don’t know. Desmond’s never had a single ear infection.”

A nurse appeared through the swinging doors and called a name. The man clutching his stomach and the woman with him stood and followed her into the back. Ten minutes passed. Desmond grew bored. Niall found him a Ranger Rick magazine with pictures of wild animals that entertained him for a while. Anna’s cries dwindled into an occasional miserable whimper. She grew heavier as she relaxed. Rowan shifted to get more comfortable.

Niall suddenly stood, came to the chair on the other side of her. “I’ll take her for a while. You need a break.”

He meant it. Rowan didn’t know why she was surprised. Drew had been a good father. He’d have insisted on taking a turn, too. But that was different. Nonetheless, she gratefully shifted Anna to his arms and watched as he settled her against him as if he’d done it a thousand times. After a minute, Rowan turned her attention to Desmond. She found a crayon in her purse and they did a simple word match puzzle in the magazine.

The teenage girl went back. Five or ten minutes later, so did the mother and boy. None of them reappeared. An ambulance raced into the bay, lights flashing, briefly exciting Desmond. Hospital personnel hurried out and helped unload a man onto a rolling gurney, hooking a bag of fluids above him and adjusting an oxygen mask. Everyone moved really fast. After a while, the two EMTs came back out and drove away. Desmond fell asleep against Rowan’s shoulder. She peeked at Anna and saw that she was still awake, but barely, her eyes mere slits between puffy, red lids.

“Anna Staley.”

Rowan started.

“You take Anna and I’ll carry Desmond,” said Niall, standing.

He seemed to assume he’d come back with her. The independent woman she usually was thought she ought to protest, but, oh, this was so nice to be able to lean, if only a little. Why not enjoy it while it lasted? So, without arguing, she accepted the transfer and they all traipsed after the nurse as if they were the family they appeared to be.

The nurse led them to a curtained cubicle, where she took Anna’s temperature and pulse, made notes and went away. The wait after that was, thankfully, brief. Niall appeared completely patient. Beyond their small space, Rowan could hear voices; footsteps passed now and again. Then the curtain rattled on its rings and a woman her mother’s age in a white coat appeared. She wore a stethoscope around her neck.

“I’m Dr. Ellis,” she said briskly. “What seems to be the problem?”

Rowan told her, and with a lighted speculum Dr. Ellis looked into Anna’s ears, shaking her head as she did so. “You poor thing. Flaming red. Hmm.” She persuaded Anna to stick out her tongue and was able to look down her throat. She hmmed a bit more and said, “Her tonsils don’t look awful, but they’re a little ragged. You say she’s had frequent infections?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to give you an antibiotic tonight, but also a referral to an ear, nose and throat specialist. She needs to have her adenoids checked, and it’s possible those tonsils should come out. Worth a good look, anyway.”

“Yes. Please.”

She gave some suggestions for immediate relief, all of which Rowan had heard before and already tried, sent the prescription for the antibiotic winging off to the hospital pharmacy from the computer and breezed out.

“Let’s take the kids to the car,” Niall suggested. “Then I can go back in and pick up the prescription.”

She’d already given her insurance information, so they didn’t have to stop on the way out. Rowan had to hurry to keep up with Niall’s long stride. Desmond’s weight seemed to be nothing to him. She cringed to think what it would have been like without Niall. As much as she’d come to resent her parents-in-law, at least she hadn’t had to drag Des along the last few times she’d brought Anna to Emergency in the middle of the night.

“I’ll pay you back,” she said to Niall, when he closed the door on Desmond’s side and looked at her over the roof of the car.

“Looks like Anna’s asleep at last. Close your eyes, too, if you can.”

This time she sat in front. Once she’d locked the doors, she did put the seat back a bit. She couldn’t doze, but she came close. Time had a dreamlike quality. She didn’t know how long it was before he came back, handed her a bag and then started the car. They didn’t talk during the short drive.

When they got home, Niall said quietly, “I’ll carry him up to bed,” and she could only nod. Anna stirred when she picked her up, but Desmond stayed limp and unresponsive. Rowan had forgotten to lock the back door, which earned her a glance from Niall, but all he did was carry her son upstairs and turn into his bedroom. She gave Anna a dose of the strawberry-flavored antibiotic and another dose of painkiller, tucked her in, and looked up to see Niall waiting in the bedroom doorway.

“She okay?” he murmured when Rowan joined him in the hall.

“Mostly worn-out, I think. But maybe she’ll sleep for a few hours.”

He looked down at her with those gray eyes that didn’t reveal anything, however kind he’d been tonight. “You need to do the same.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “You, too.”

“Yeah.” His voice had dropped a notch, sounded husky. “I will.”

“Thank you,” Rowan whispered.

His hand lifted and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles seemed to linger against her cheek, but that might have been her imagination. He backed a step away. “I’ll lock up,” he said, low and gentle, then turned and went downstairs.

Rowan stood where she was until the lights downstairs went out and she heard the click of the back door. She was so tired she was swaying on her feet. It was hard to make herself turn out the hall light, too, and go into her bedroom. She stripped off her clothes and bothered with the T-shirt she wore as a nightgown only because she would probably have to get up again with Anna.

Sleep pulled her down. Just before she fell into it, she thought how lucky her grandmother had been to find Niall. How lucky she was.

Yes, but he didn’t want to be with us tonight.

What a strange thought. He’d been wonderful. And yet…something told her that the whole while, a part of him had strained to escape.

He was really a stranger, so it shouldn’t hurt to know that he’d helped because he felt he had to, not because of any tender feelings for her or the kids. Shouldn’t hurt? Didn’t. Of course it didn’t hurt, she told herself, and fell into the thick velvet darkness of sleep.

ROWAN STOOD AT THE KITCHEN sink, her hands in soapy water, and watched her son through the window. She hadn’t noticed in time to stop him from knocking on Niall’s door. She’d first spotted him standing there staring at it as if it would surely open any minute. Sam was at his side, Desmond’s hand gripping the dog’s ruff. For once, Sam’s tail wasn’t wagging. She saw the minute Des gave up; his shoulders slumped, his head bowed and he turned away, disconsolate.

Rage rose in her, almost choking her. How could Niall do this to a little boy? He’d systematically avoided them since that night. Three days now, and he had managed to come and go when none of them were outside. He didn’t answer knocks on his door, even though Rowan knew he was home. He was letting them know, bluntly and cruelly, that he had no intention of getting sucked into their lives.

If it was only her, she wouldn’t have minded. Anna, she thought, had been getting attached, but she was less aware of his rejection. Desmond, though, had latched on to him with all of a little boy’s need, and now Niall was knowingly hurting him.

What she wished she could do was find an excuse to evict the jerk. Maybe she could find a genuinely nice man to live in her small rental. No, not a man; a woman. She wouldn’t set Des up for this again. She ached, watching him walk so slowly back across the lawn, scuffing his feet, never once raising his head. She hoped Niall was watching, too. She hoped he felt guilty.

Rowan snorted. Who was she kidding? If he was capable of guilt, he’d be letting Desmond down gently instead of cutting him off, whack, sorry, don’t want to see you, kid.

Drying her hands, she went to the back door and opened it. “Hey,” she said, “I was thinking about baking cookies. You want to help?”

“Not really.” He sat on the bottom step. “Sam and me want to stay out here. That’s okay, isn’t it, Mom?”

No, she wanted to say. No, it isn’t, not if you’re going to stare at Niall’s house and wait for something that isn’t going to happen. But how could she?

“Maybe Zeke would like to come over,” she suggested.

He shook his head. “He has swimming lessons today.”

Now she felt a pang of guilt. She’d meant to sign Desmond up, too, but what with moving and starting work on the house, it had slipped her mind. “I’ll bet I could get you in for the last session,” she said. “I’ll find out when it starts.”

“Can Anna take lessons, too?”

“The doctors don’t recommend she get water in her ears. You know how I put plugs in her ears even in the bathtub.”

“Zeke says he’s doing real good. He swam all the way across the pool.” Desmond sounded impressed.

“You already know how to put your face in and float and kick. You’ll be swimming across the pool, too, before you know it.”

“But I’ll be in Beginners, won’t I? Zeke says he’s gonna be in Advanced Beginners next time.”

Lousy mother alert. Her shoulders sagged, too. Maybe Donna and Glenn were right. Maybe she wasn’t a good mother.

“I can swim,” she said. “What if we go to public swim sessions and I teach you? Maybe you could catch up before the next session of lessons starts.”

His face brightened even as she was thinking, Wait! What do I do with Anna? She should have thought before she opened her mouth. But Anna’s grandparents would be thrilled to have her. It could be a sort of…consolation for them. A chance to spend time with one of their grandkids, while Rowan had a good excuse for not leaving Desmond with them. Yes. That might work.

“Really?”

She smiled at her son. “Really.”

“That would be cool,” he decided. “I bet I can learn real fast.”

“I bet you can, too.”

“Do you think Niall knows how to swim?”

She aimed one brief laser-sharp glare at the cottage, wishing it could pass through walls and impale her tenant. “Who knows?” she said lightly. “He’s just a guy who was renting from Gran, Des. I know he was nice to you, but he must be really busy. We were lucky he could help us out the other night, but let’s not count on him, okay?”

The animation left her son’s face. After a moment he bowed his head again. “I thought he liked me.”

She hesitated. “I’m sure he does, but…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “I’ve got Super Sam. And I like living here better than Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

“Good.” Rowan hugged him. “You sure you don’t want to help with those cookies?”

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse again, but finally he shrugged and climbed to his feet. “I guess I might as well.”

He trudged into the house after her, and right at that moment she hated Niall MacLachlan with all the passion in her heart.

HE’D MISSED HIS LITTLE hobby.

The man moved soundlessly across the lawn, loving the cloak of darkness. It had been over a year since he’d done this. He had to worry about being caught, even though he never had been. Still, he would indulge himself for a while, for a few weeks or months, then quit again before the police got involved. He could find what he needed on his computer. There was plenty available online to satisfy his craving.

Lately, though, he’d found himself noticing who lived where. His excitement had sharpened, even before he’d made a conscious decision to start again.

Really he should wait until fall, when darkness came earlier. He’d noticed, though, that parents were letting their children stay up much later these days, perhaps because it was summer. Nine or ten o’clock, and there were still games of tag going on in the street. What were those parents thinking? Anything could happen to their children, out in the dark.

Of course, he wouldn’t hurt them. He only allowed himself to look. Looking was enough.

This rambler didn’t even have a fence, which meant no dog, either. Dogs were a nuisance, although fortunately their families often took them in at night. He moved quietly along the side of the house, staying out of the light cast through the kitchen window. The next window was dark; dining room, he thought. The one after that was dark, too; master bedroom, he hoped.

The two smaller windows were bathrooms. He heard water running, muffled voices. It was the next window that interested him. A light was on in the room; somebody had already pulled the curtains, which were blue cotton with spaceships rocketing between bright golden stars. The hand that had pulled them was careless, though. There was a crack on one side, enough for him to see into a little boy’s bedroom.

To get close, he had to step into the flower bed, which he didn’t like. He’d have to remember to scuff the dirt before he left, so no obvious footprints remained. The thorny cane of a rosebush snagged his pants, and he stifled a curse. But the boy was alone in the room, taking his pajamas from beneath his pillow. He was old enough to get undressed and dressed himself.

This close to the window, the man heard the mother call, “Chad? Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in.”

The boy took off his shirt and dropped it in an open hamper. His back to the man, he kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his socks and then his jeans and briefs. Filled with intense pleasure and the sharp arrow of anticipation—turn around, turn around—the man unzipped his pants. So quietly. He loved knowing he was invisible out here.

He reached down to touch himself.