Читать книгу The Christmas Child - Linda Goodnight - Страница 11

Kade wanted to punch something. Fists tight against his sides, he glared at the departing car, shocked by his reaction. He wasn’t supposed to get personally involved. But he was supposed to protect and serve. With Davey gone to strangers, how could he do that?

Sophie touched him. A gentle hand to his outer elbow. A comforting squeeze and release. His muscles tensed. He turned from staring down Hope Avenue, a useless occupation considering the car was long gone, to meet the teacher’s gaze. He didn’t say what he was thinking. A woman like her wouldn’t want to know, and as the dismayed shrink had discovered, Kade was not one to vomit his emotions all over someone else anyway.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said.

“Nothing we can do.”

“This doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why exactly. We barely know Davey, but I’m worried about him. He seemed comfortable with us.”

“Yeah.” Kade pivoted toward the house. “Might as well get out of the wind. Want to come in?”

“No, I should go. I—” She pushed aside a blowing curve of hair, only to let it blow right back across her face.

“Come in. Finish your coffee.” He wasn’t ready for her to leave. They shared a common concern and a common ache. Sophie was a nice woman, the kind a man didn’t blow off and leave standing in his driveway.

She didn’t argue but fell in step beside him. Her height was average, as was his, but his stride was longer. She picked up her pace. “I hadn’t read the book. I promised to read his book.”

He’d told her not to make promises. Promises got broken. He pushed open Ida June’s front door, a bright red enameled rectangle festooned with a smelly cedar wreath the size of an inner tube. “He’ll be okay.”

“The Cunninghams are good people. They live on a farm.”

Sheba met them at the door, body language asking about Davey.

Sophie stroked the golden ears. “She didn’t want him to leave, either.”

“No.”

“I’ll call Cybil Cunningham tonight and check on him. She won’t mind.”

“Good.” He went to the kitchen, stuck their coffee mugs in the microwave to heat. “This doesn’t end here.”

The words came out unexpectedly but he meant them. The microwave beeped and he popped the door open to hand Sophie her heated coffee.

She took the mug with both hands and sipped, gray gaze watching him above the rim. “You’re going to search for his family?”

“I’m searching for answers. It’s what I do. And I’ll find them.” The stir in his blood was far more potent than the acid in his belly. Finding answers for Davey gave him focus, a mission, something to do besides relive failure.

“The police will do that, won’t they?” She set the mug on the metal table and drew out a chair.

Kade shrugged. A lot she knew about law enforcement. “They’ll try. For a while. But if the trail grows cold, Davey will go on the back burner.”

“And be stuck in the social system.”

“Right.” Restless, he didn’t join her at the table, but he liked seeing her there, calm to his anxious. How did she do that? How did she shift into serene gear after what had just happened? He knew she’d been emotional when Davey left. He’d watched her struggle, saw her pull a smile out of her aching heart for Davey’s sake. Now she drew on some inner reserve as though she trusted everything would work out for the best. “I talked to Jesse Rainmaker an hour ago. Nothing. Nothing on the databases, either.”

“I don’t understand that. If your child was missing, wouldn’t you call the police?”

She was as naive as a baby, a cookie-baking optimist. The thought tickled the corners of his eyes. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Her cup clinked against the metal top. “I don’t know much about this kind of thing, Kade, but I want to do something to help Davey find his family. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

He was positive she didn’t want to hear it all. “I can think of a couple of scenarios. One, his family doesn’t know he’s missing.”

“That’s unlikely, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes parents are out of the house, at work, partying. They come home a day or two later and find their kid gone. By tomorrow, someone should raise a shout if they’re going to.”

“What else?”

“His parents don’t want him.” He saw by her reaction how hard that was for her to comprehend. “It happens, Sophie.”

“I know. Still …” Some of the Christmas cheer leached from her eyes.

“Davey is mute. A family might not be able to deal with that. Or worse, his parents may not be in the picture. Or he could have been missing for so long they aren’t actively looking anymore.”

A frown wrinkled the smooth place between her fascinating eyebrows. A face like hers shouldn’t have to frown.

“Are you saying he might be a kidnap victim?”

“He’s a little young to be a runaway. I searched the data base of the Center for Missing and Exploited Children and came up with nothing, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a victim. It only means no one has reported him missing.”

“Are you saying a parent would ignore the fact that their child is gone?”

“It happens. Kids are a commodity. You can buy them on the internet.”

Sophie lifted a weak hand in surrender. “Don’t.”

Ignoring the problem didn’t make it go away, but he bit back the obvious comment. Sophie was small-town sweet and innocent. She hadn’t seen the dark side. She hadn’t lived in the back alleys of the underworld.

Kade poured another cup of coffee, then shoved the mug aside to take milk from the fridge. Something cool and bland might soothe the lava burning his guts.

“Kade?”

He swallowed half a glass of milk before answering. “Yeah?”

“You want to order some fifth-grade cookies to go with that milk?”

In spite of himself, he laughed. She was a piece of work, this cookie lady. “You’re going to hound me.”

“Gently. Merrily. It’s a Christmas project. So,” she said, with quiet glee, “how many dozen?”

“What am I going to do with a bunch of cookies?”

“Eat them, give them as gifts, have a Christmas party. The possibilities are limitless.”

“I don’t do the Christmas thing.”

She didn’t go there and he was grateful. He wasn’t up to explaining all the reasons he couldn’t muster any Christmas spirit. Or any kind of spirit for that matter. His faith hadn’t survived the dark corners of south Chicago.

“Everyone eats cookies.” Her smile tilted the corners of a very nice, unenhanced mouth. He wondered if she had a guy.

“A dozen. Now leave me alone.”

His gruff reply seemed to delight, rather than insult. “You old Scrooge. I’ll get you for more.”

Wouldn’t that be a stupid sight? Him with a bunch of Santas and stars and Christmas trees to eat all by himself. Or better yet, he’d stand on the street corner back home and hand them out. See how long before he got arrested.

“We were talking about the boy,” he said.

She shrugged, a minimal motion of shoulders and face. “Your stomach is bothering you. You needed a distraction.”

Kade narrowed his eyes at her. “The cookie lady is a mind reader?”

“People watcher.”

She had distracted him, although the cookie conversation was not as powerful as the woman herself. A less careful man could get lost in all that sugary sweetness.

He tilted his head toward the garage and the clatter of Ida June’s old truck engine chugging to a halt. Before he could say “She’s here,” his inimitable aunt sailed through the back entrance and slammed the door with enough force to make Sheba give one startled yip.

“I heard what happened.” Disapproval radiating from every pore, Ida June slapped a sunflower knitting bag the size of his gym bag onto the butcher-top counter. “I’ll give Howard Prichard a piece of my mind and he’ll know the reason why. Silliest thing I ever heard of. Jerk a terrified child from a perfectly fine place and take him to live with a bunch of strangers.”

“We’re strangers, too,” Kade said mildly. Seeing her riled up cooled him down even though he appreciated her fire.

“Don’t sass, nephew. What are you going to do about this?” With a harrumph, she folded her arms across the front of her overalls. Sheba, the peacemaker, nudged her knee.

Kade imitated her crossed arms and slouched against the refrigerator. “Find his family.”

“I expected as much. Good to hear it.” Ida June gave the dog an absent pat. Then as if she’d just realized someone else occupied the kitchen, she said, “Hello, Sophie. You selling cookies?”

Sophie set her cup to one side. “It’s that time of year.”

“Put me down for five dozen. Did you get this nephew of mine to buy any?”

The pretty mouth quivered. “A dozen.”

Kade was tempted to roll his eyes because he knew what was to come from his incorrigible aunt.

“He’ll have to do better than that. Stay after him.”

“I plan to.”

“I’m still in the room,” he said mildly. The refrigerator kicked on, the motor vibrating against his tense back. “The least you can do is wait until I’m gone to gang up on me.”

Aunt Ida June gave him a mock-sour look. “Crybaby. Is Sophie staying for supper? I made that lasagna last night and you didn’t eat enough of it to feed a gnat. I refuse to feed it to Sheba.” When the dog cocked her head, Ida June amended. “Maybe a bite. Well, is Sophie staying or not?”

Kade arched an inquiring eyebrow in Sophie’s direction. He didn’t mind if she stayed for dinner. Might be interesting to know her better.

He waited for her answer. An insistent, perplexing hope nudged up inside him.

Sophie rose from the table and pushed in the chair, as polite and tidy as he would have expected. Kade liked what he saw, and not just the fact that she was pretty as sunshine and looked good in a sweater. He liked the feminine way her fingertips glided along the top of the chair rung before straightening the hem of her blouse. And the way she met Ida June’s gaze with straight-on, clear and honest eye contact.

A student of human nature, Kade could spot pretense in a second. There was nothing false about Sophie Bartholomew.

He hoped she’d stay for dinner.

“Thank you, Miss Ida June,” she said. “But I have to say no. I promised to drop by my dad’s this evening and help put up his Christmas decorations.”

Kade’s ulcer mocked him. All right, so she had a life. Other than Davey, she had no reason to stick around here.

“You’re a good daughter,” Ida June said, smacking her lips together with satisfaction. “You’ll make a fine wife.”

“I have a great dad.” If Sophie thought a thing about Ida June’s blatant “wife” remark, she didn’t let on. Apparently, the citizens of Redemption were accustomed to his aunt’s habit of saying exactly what she thought.

Sophie took her coffee cup to the sink and turned on the warm water. Above the whoosh, she asked, “How’s the stable coming along?”

“Leave that cup in the sink. Kade’s gotta be useful for something around here.” Ida June shouldered Kade to the side and yanked a casserole from the refrigerator. She banged the sturdy glass dish on the counter and dug in the cabinets for foil and a spatula. The woman slammed and banged in the kitchen the same way she did on a job. With purpose and sass.

“You’ll take your dad some lasagna.” From Sophie’s quiet acceptance, Kade figured she knew not to argue with Ida June. “Stable’s nearly done. Would have been if Kade had been there. Makes me so aggravated not to be able to carry a four-by-eight sheet of plywood by myself.” She flexed an arm muscle and gave it a whap. “Puny thing.”

“Nobody would accuse you of being puny, Ida June.” Kade moved to Sophie’s side and reached for the coffee mug.

She scooted but didn’t turn loose of the cup. She did, however, flash him that sunny smile, only this one carried a hint of his aunt’s sass. “I can do it.”

“Yeah?” he arched a brow.

She arched one, too. “Yeah.”

Was the cookie lady flirting with him?

They jockeyed for position for a few seconds while Kade examined the interesting simmer of energy buzzing around the pair of them like honeybees in a glass jar, both dangerous and sweet. Danger he understood, but sweet Sophie didn’t know what she was bumping up against.

Ten minutes later, he walked her out the front door, leaving Ida June to heat a spicy casserole that would torture him again tonight.

He opened the car door for Sophie, stood with one hand on the handle as she slid gracefully onto the seat. At some point in the day she’d changed her clothes from a long blue sweater to a dark skirt and white blouse. She looked the part of a teacher. Weird that he’d notice. “Don’t worry about the kid.”

Keys rattled as she dug in the pocket of a black jacket. “I won’t. But I will pray for him.”

His teeth tightened. “You pray. I’ll find answers.”

A cloud passing overhead shadowed her usual cheer. “We can do both.”

“Right.” God listened to people like Sophie. Kade still believed that much.

She started the engine and yet he remained in the open car door, wanting to say something reassuring and not knowing how. Life, he knew, did not always turn out the way it should.

“Kade?” she said.

“Yeah?”

She reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve. Her warmth, or maybe the thought of it, seeped through the thick cotton.

“Everything will be all right.” Her gray eyes smiled, serious but teasing, too. “I promise.”

The tables had turned. She was the one doing the reassuring. For two beats he even believed her.

Then he said, “Don’t make promises,” and shut the door.

“Dad, have you ever met Kade McKendrick?” Sophie stood on a stepladder propped against her father’s brick house, feeding tiny blue lightbulbs into equally tiny sockets. Next to her, on another stepladder, her dad attached strands of Christmas lights to the gabled eaves. “Ida June’s nephew? Yes, I’ve run into him a time or two. Why?”

“What was your impression?”

“Polite. Watchful. A man with something on his mind.”

“Hmm.” Yes, she saw those things. He was wounded, too, and maybe a little sour on the world. Beneath that unhealthy dose of cynicism, she also saw a man who didn’t back down, who did what he promised. Although he had this thing about not making any promises at all. “Hmm.”

Her father paused, one hand braced against brick to turn his head toward her. “What does that hmm of yours mean?”

“I don’t know, Dad. Nothing really.” She didn’t know how to put into words the curious interest Kade had stirred up. “He says he’ll find Davey’s family.”

“Maybe he will,” her dad said. “I heard he was an agent for the DEA.”

“He mentioned special units, whatever those are.”

“Could be DEA or any of the other highly trained groups. Seems strange, don’t you think, for him to be here in Redemption doing odd jobs with a great-aunt?”

She took another bulb from her jacket pocket and snapped it into the tiny slot. “Maybe he’s simply a nice guy helping out an older relative.”

“Ida June? Older?” Dad snorted and turned back to his task. “I won’t tell her you said that.”

Sophie laughed. “Thanks.”

“So what are you ruminating about?”

“When I mentioned praying for Davey, Kade threw up a wall of resistance. He did the same thing when I mentioned Christmas.”

“Lots of non-Christians get uncomfortable with God talk, but Christmas is a different matter. Maybe something bad happened during the holidays?” He paused to take another strand of lights from her outstretched hand. “Or maybe the guy’s a jerk.”

“I don’t think so, Dad. He was kind to Davey. Almost tender. You should have seen the pair of them digging through that bag of clothes.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

Her heart jumped, a reaction she didn’t quite get. She liked everyone. “Beyond his kindness to Davey, I barely know him.”

“I knew your mother was the one the minute I laid eyes on her.”

Like a fly on her hamburger, the remark soured Sophie’s stomach. How could Dad speak casually and without bitterness when Sophie still felt the disappointment as keenly as she had five years ago?

She pushed one final bulb into a socket and backed down the ladder. “Are we putting the sleigh on the roof this year?”

If Dad noticed the change in subjects, he didn’t let on. With a sparkle in his eyes and the nip of wind reddening his cheeks, he asked, “Do elves make toys? Does Santa have a list of naughty and nice?”

Mark Bartholomew was almost as Christmas-crazy as his daughter, and every year they worked for days decorating first his house and then her little cottage. No matter how cold and fierce the wind or how many other activities they had going, this had become their tradition since the divorce. She’d started the practice so that the first holiday without Mom would be easier for him, but now she treasured this special time with her father.