Читать книгу Sweet Child of Mine - Jean Brashear - Страница 8

“Michael, your father just wants to know that you’ll have someone of your own. We worry about you being alone. He needs the peace of mind.”

“I’m not alone, Mom. I have plenty of friends.” Michael Longstreet leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the desk, and squeezed his eyes shut. Telephone cradled on one shoulder, he stared out his law office window. The quiet of Prosperino’s Main Street in early February was something he normally looked forward to, but this year was anything but normal.

His town was in trouble. His father’s heart was giving out. His mother, usually so relentless in her need to meddle in his life, had turned frail overnight.

“And I had someone,” he continued to make his case. “I had Elaine.”

“I know.” Her voice fell. “I can’t help thinking that if we’d given our blessing to your marriage, she and the baby would still be alive.”

No, Mom. That’s not on your shoulders. That blame is all mine. “Mom, don’t—”

“It’s just that he worries about you.”

“I know.” It was an old record, the grooves worn thin. “But there’s no reason to worry. My life is fine. I’ve got my work and my duties as mayor—” He glanced at his watch and shoved to his feet. Rory Sinclair, the FBI expert investigating the contamination of the Hopechest Ranch well, had asked for a meeting that would begin in half an hour.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. There’s a meeting about Hopechest. I’ll stop by and see Dad in the morning, all right?”

“Michael, will the town’s water be all right?” She sounded old, all of a sudden. Tremulous in a way that worried him.

“Sure it will,” he said, with a confidence he couldn’t back up with facts. It was his main task lately, projecting assurance so that people wouldn’t panic. “The FBI is on the case and they’re getting close, they tell me. We’ll know soon what made so many people sick.” He stood up, ran his fingers through his hair and wondered when he’d ever get a good night’s sleep again. “Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go now, but don’t you worry. I can’t magically produce a wife to make Dad happy, but I’ll talk to him again, make sure he sees that I’m just fine. I’ll figure out a way to ease his mind.” And he would, just as he’d always done his duty by his family.

With one notable exception.

He listened to his mother for another few moments, made sure that she was steadier before he said good-bye. Then he glanced at his watch again, grabbed his jacket and strode out the door.

Mayor Longstreet was on the job.

Something was wrong with Suzanne Jorgenson.

That evening Michael frowned, watching the slender, dark-haired social worker standing so quietly at the podium. The emergency city council meeting was jammed with anxious citizens, all talking at once.

A voice lifted above the rest. “Michael, how do we know this DM—uh—”

“DMBE,” he supplied. He’d only heard of the substance an hour ago himself.

“Whatever,” the man in the second row shouted. “My wife’s pregnant and we’ve got three other kids. What makes you think the contaminated water is only at Hopechest Ranch?”

Michael leaned closer to his microphone, praying for the right words. The air was thick with fear. A full-blown panic wasn’t far off.

“The only people who’ve gotten sick have been either kids who live at Hopechest or townspeople who work there.”

“Why would anybody want to poison a ranch full of kids?” someone asked.

“Those kids are troublemakers. Even their parents don’t want them,” said a disgruntled voice.

Finally Michael saw a spark in Suzanne’s deep violet eyes. Her long hair swung as she turned quickly to pin the speaker with a glare. “Just because it’s been forty years since you had kids around, Homer Wentworth, doesn’t mean you have no responsibility to help those less fortunate.”

Michael tried not to gloat. Old Wentworth wanted to raise the drawbridge around his property and ignore the rest of the world—until his taxes were impacted.

He’d picked the wrong person to spar with. Suzanne Jorgenson was passionate about one thing beyond anything else: troubled children. In the months since she’d come to Prosperino, he’d seen the raven-haired beauty standing at the podium in city council chambers many times—usually chewing him out for all the shortcomings of the city he ran, full of suggestions for ways to better the lives of Prosperino’s neglected children. She would work herself into the ground to give them the love and support she firmly believed should be every child’s God-given right.

Michael was accustomed to the crackle in the air from her boundless well of energy, her St. George-against-the-dragon flair. He would even admit to enjoying baiting her simply to see the sparks flare from those bottomless eyes. There was very little that was restful about the social worker whose primary responsibility was the unwed mothers at Emily’s House. Hopechest Ranch had not been the same since her arrival a year ago.

But no one was peaceful in Prosperino now—not with the threat of a contaminated water supply hanging over them. And tonight was a night for pulling together, not butting heads.

He tapped his gavel for order and leaned toward his microphone. “Homer, I want to assure you and all the citizens of Prosperino that every possible avenue is being explored to protect the safety of the citizens. The city wells are being monitored—”

“Some folks think it’s best to leave town, Mayor.” This from an elderly lady near the back.

“That’s up to the individual, of course. For myself, I’ll be staying here. I have every faith that we’ll soon know how DMBE got into the well at Hopechest. In the meantime, we have experts standing by, generously paid for by Joe Colton, who are working night and day on a solution to removing the substance from the water, should it reach the town’s water supply.”

There was a smattering of applause for the town’s leading citizen, Joe Colton, and his wife, Meredith. The dark-haired older man nodded his head in acknowledgment.

Michael waited for the applause to fade. “Our next concern is what to do with the children at Hopechest who haven’t fallen ill. Blake, could you tell us more about what you need?”

Blake Fallon, director of Hopechest Ranch, was standing beside Suzanne and nodded. “We’re looking for as many as thirty homes in which to place one or two of the kids. We’d prefer them to not stay at the ranch, even with water being trucked in, until we can be sure it won’t happen again.” His voice was calm as always. A less steady man would never have lasted at Hopechest.

“Blake,” Joe Colton called as he stood up, tall and distinguished. “Meredith and I have a solution we’d like to offer. We have plenty of room on the ranch for the kids who need a place to stay. That way they wouldn’t have to be split up.”

Suzanne stirred. “Mr. Colton, the girls at Emily’s House need special diets, along with transportation for regular doctor’s visits. Are you sure about this?”

Joe nodded. “Hopechest Ranch is our baby.” He smiled fondly at the wife he’d almost lost. “This feels right to us. The staff at Hopechest can set up the usual routines for however long our quarters are needed. We’ll do everything possible to meet the needs of these very deserving children.”

Michael wanted to chuckle when some of Suzanne’s normal sass revealed itself in the triumphant look she shot back at Homer Wentworth.

That was more like it.

Blake Fallon smiled broadly. “Thanks, Joe. We’ll do everything in our power to make this as easy on you and Meredith as possible. Won’t we, Suzanne?”

The long fall of her straight black hair shimmered on her shoulders as Suzanne nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”

“All right,” Michael said. “The city secretary will be placing a daily update on the city’s Web site, and for those of you who insist on pretending the Internet doesn’t exist—” he grinned good-naturedly “—a printed memo will be posted on the bulletin board outside city offices.”

He scanned the room and waited for total silence to fall. “My father is very ill and I have no intention of moving him out of Prosperino, nor do I plan to leave myself. That’s how sure I am that it will all work out. I want every citizen of this town to know that all possible resources are being tapped to ensure their safety, and I have every faith that we will succeed. You all know where my office is—hell, most of you wind up on my front porch at one time or another.” He grinned as laughter traveled around the room.

“I’m not going anywhere and I’m available whenever you have a question, all right? We’re in this together, and I won’t rest until we get this puzzle solved. Now, anybody have another question?” He waited patiently, but no one spoke up.

“All right, then. This meeting is adjourned.” He brought the gavel down and rose, pulling his battered leather jacket from the chair behind him. Within seconds, people surrounded him, all wanting answers he didn’t have, but he would do his best to soothe them, to instill confidence in the government he headed. That was his job as mayor and a duty he held sacred. This town was his responsibility, just as were his dying father and his frightened mother.

Michael Longstreet had had one spectacular failure as a young husband and father and it had cost him the family he should have saved.

Never again would someone in his care suffer.

“Let’s go talk to Joe and see how soon he can take the kids,” Blake Fallon said.

Suzanne flicked a glance toward the dais where Michael Longstreet held court. With her accursed sensitivity to the emotional temperature of her surroundings, Suzanne felt the anxiety of the crowd pummel her already battered nerves, but she could feel the lowering of the tension around her.

Thanks to Mr. Mayor’s glib tongue.

“Suz?” Blake broke in. “Did you hear what I asked?”

“Oh—yes. Sure. Let’s go.”

That was a cheap shot, calling him glib. Yes, Michael Longstreet had the devil’s own silver tongue. He could probably call the birds down from the trees. He’d certainly gotten the upper hand often enough when she’d tangled with him. She glanced back toward the dais and saw his shaggy, sun-streaked brown hair as he towered above most of his constituents. In his usual jeans and boots, no one would guess he was a graduate of Yale and Georgetown Law School, smart, rich and, yes, too good-looking. When he could have been a partner in any Wall Street firm, why had he come back to Prosperino?

She didn’t know and couldn’t care. As she walked toward Joe and Meredith Colton, she could only be concerned about the kids of Hopechest Ranch. She had eight homeless pregnant girls at Emily’s House. Despite the doctor’s reassurances, they were still worried about the effects of DMBE on their babies.

Then there were the forty-eight kids at Hopechest Ranch right now, some of whom were at delicate stages in their emotional development. She’d have to find extra time to keep meeting with the kids, one on one, to monitor their emotional well-being.

A light touch on her arm brought her up short. “Suzanne, you look tired. This must be very hard on you and Blake,” said Meredith Colton, gracious and elegant as always, her warm brown eyes filled with sympathy.

“The whole staff’s pretty tired. No one’s gotten much sleep since this thing started.”

“But are you sure that’s all that’s wrong? You seem so—” Ever the soul of discretion, Meredith didn’t continue.

As soon as she could get away, Suzanne was going to crawl in a hole somewhere and hide from the bombshell that had been dropped right into her dreams just as she was about to leave for the meeting tonight.

Joe Colton and Blake looked at her oddly, and Suzanne straightened. She would lick her wounds in private. “I’m just fine. It’s the kids I’m worried about. Tell us how you want to work out the details of turning your beautiful home into an orphanage.”

Joe and Meredith laughed and even Blake, exhausted and worried as he was, cracked a smile.

Suzanne shoved away the blues and concentrated on the children under her care.

“See you in the morning, Blake.” Michael waved at his troubled friend. “Go get some sleep. It’ll all be here tomorrow.”

Blake shook his head. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We’re going to lick this, buddy. Your friend Sinclair broke the case, and the FBI’s now involved. The EPA guys are champing at the bit after Inspector O’Connell’s death. We’ll find out who and why and what we have to do. Joe’s brought all his resources to bear, too.”

“But what if—”

Michael knew exactly what Blake meant. He wouldn’t be sleeping soundly at night until they knew for sure how the DMBE got into the Hopechest water and could be sure it hadn’t traveled into the city’s wells. But he’d learned long ago that lying awake didn’t do anything but make you too tired to deal with tomorrow. “Tomorrow, Blake,” he said firmly. “No more for you tonight.” With a friendly push, he sent his friend toward his car. “Home. Sleep.”

Blake saluted, got into his car and drove away.

Michael stood on Prosperino’s Main Street and looked around him at the town where his childhood memories had been born. He thought of the son who’d never ride his bike on these streets, never climb a tree. He felt an echo of the old, gut-wrenching pain and looked up at the stars.

Not one parent in Prosperino is going to lose a child, I swear it. I will not rest until everyone here is safe again, no matter what it takes.

There was nothing he could do to safeguard the woman and child buried, along with his heart, a continent away. There was nothing he could do to make his father’s long-damaged heart mend. Nor was there anything he could—or would—do to satisfy his father’s dying wish for Michael to marry.

But he could expend every ounce of his determination and strength to keep the citizens of this town safe. Corny as it might sound, they were his responsibility. He had taken an oath to serve this town that was so much a part of him, of his family’s heritage, and he would honor that oath.

Michael’s senses registered the breeze through the trees, the muffled sounds of slow, small-town living. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He was starving. His gaze lit on Ruby’s Café, the heartbeat of Prosperino. He didn’t feel like going home to an empty house tonight. Ruby’s, it was. With quick strides, he headed down the block.

When he entered the café, quiet at this late hour, he was stopped at every occupied table or booth by people seeking reassurance. He did the best he could, though it had been a very long day and all he really wanted was some peace and quiet and food.

He spoke with the last group and traded handshakes all around, then headed for his favorite back booth.

But it was occupied—by the very woman he’d been worried about earlier.

Staring into a coffee cup, looking utterly lost, Suzanne Jorgenson seemed to gather what little light made it into that corner of the room. Sleek and straight, her black hair fell past her shoulders, veiling her face as she leaned forward, her head in her hands.

Suzanne was a good foot shorter than his own six four, but her will was so strong and her spirit so indomitable that she’d always seemed taller. Tonight she looked fragile and vulnerable, and it shocked Michael so much that he wasn’t sure whether to go to her or retreat.

But he’d never been much for retreating.

“Mind if I join you?”

Her head jerked up, and he could see that she’d been crying. On her lovely face was a look of such despair that it didn’t matter how tired he was. Instead of waiting for an answer she seemed too dazed to give, he sat down. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment the old sparks flickered in those stunning violet eyes. “I don’t recall inviting you to sit down, Mr. Mayor.” But he heard the tremble in her voice.

“So sue me. What’s wrong? The kids are going to be okay, I swear it. We’ve got lots of people working on this. The ranch isn’t alone anymore.”

“It isn’t—” She stopped, but he could see temptation flicker.

He cocked his head. “Is there something about the ranch I need to know? Something you and Blake haven’t told us?”

She shook her head slowly. “It’s not the ranch. It’s—” She glanced away. “Nothing. Not anything you need to worry about.”

But she was worried, desperately so. He made his living reading people—in court, in depositions, in the confidences they shared with him. He also knew the value of silence. “I’ve got pretty broad shoulders and a willing ear to spare.”

When her gaze flickered over him, measuring those shoulders, Michael felt an answering response, and the strength of it surprised him. Well, all right, it wasn’t like he’d never looked at her as a woman. But most of the time she was a pain in the behind, always involved in some cause or other, always trying to push for the city to pitch in, always impatient with the pace of bureaucracy.

But he had noticed she was female. She was slender though definitely curved in all the right places. You couldn’t look at her with those big violet eyes and those knockout legs and not know she was all woman. If she’d use that delectable mouth for something besides arguing with him over every line of the city budget as though the only important causes were hers—

He caught himself staring at that mouth and turned away quickly, calling out his order to Ruby.

“No date tonight, Mr. Mayor?” There it was, that tone she used, that snotty tone that made him—

She didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was making her cry, so she must be out to pick a fight.

He wasn’t going to cooperate. “Nope. No date. Doesn’t look too good for the head of the emergency management team to be playing while the Titanic sinks.”

Her eyes went wide, and she shifted in the booth. “Oh God, the kids—”

He stopped her with one raised palm. “It was a joke, Jorgenson. All right, a lousy one, but I’m a little punchy. We’ve been putting in some long nights lately.”

Suddenly her eyes softened. “Blake’s exhausted.”

“I’ll bet you are, too. You’ve been at the hospital every day and all that driving back and forth to the ranch trying to keep the kids calm has to be wearing you out. You should be home asleep, you know. You won’t do them any good if you wind up in a bed beside them.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Careful, Longstreet. I might get the idea that you’re a decent guy.”

He shrugged and grinned. “I even have a mother who thinks I’m pretty terrific. Go figure.” He watched her closely. He took one more stab, keeping his tone light. “So if it’s not the ranch, is it some deep, dark secret that I can exploit the next time you’re haranguing me at the council meeting?”

She made a halfhearted attempt to rise to the bait. “Can’t help you there. Sorry.”

The waitress walked up with his food, and Suzanne fell silent.

Michael didn’t speak either but tucked into his meal, savoring the first bites of Ruby’s meat loaf from heaven. After he’d satisfied the initial hunger pangs, he looked at Suzanne again, observing the slim fingers clutching the coffee cup until her knuckles turned white.

He went on impulse. “Give me a dollar.”

Her head jerked up again. “What?”

“Give me a dollar.” He spied the change beside her cup and grabbed it. “Never mind. Thirty-seven cents will do.”

“What are you doing?”

“You just hired me as your lawyer. Now I can’t reveal to a soul anything you tell me. So spill it, Suzanne. Something’s eating you up and you need to talk about it.”

She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.

Then the tears spilled over.

“I’m going to lose my son. For the second time.”