Читать книгу Dad In Blue - Shelley Cooper - Страница 9

Dozens of wooden animals littered the kitchen table. Deer. Horses. Dogs. Cats. Sheep. Goats. An elephant. Even a skunk. Picking up a square of wood, Carlo used a carving knife to make several rough cuts across the grain. An owl, he decided, was what he would carve next, and after that, perhaps a camel.

The unexpected peal of the doorbell made him jump. His knife slipped, nearly taking a chunk out of his thumb.

Muttering a curse beneath his breath, Carlo carefully placed the knife on the table. He knew exactly who he’d find when he opened the door: his brothers. All five of them. For the past six days, since he’d gone on his leave of absence, they had taken turns checking in on him. Hourly.

For sheer convenience, the telephone was their preferred method of reaching out and touching him. They’d instituted their phone check-in system years ago, when his baby sister, Kate, had left home to strike out on her own. A year and a half ago they’d relied on it heavily when a stalker had threatened her. Kate had always hated their constant surveillance, even when she’d been in danger, and Carlo finally understood why. His brothers were driving him crazy.

They were worried about him, and for that he felt a twinge of conscience. Just as he hadn’t told them what had actually happened on that day a year ago, neither had he told them the reason for his leave. In his opinion, his justification for not doing so was sound. If he told them the truth, one of two things would happen. They would either turn away from him in disgust, thus giving him the blessed peace he craved. Or their concern for him, and for his state of mind, would deepen, in which case they’d insist on setting up camp in his living room so they could monitor his every move. The way his luck was running, he’d give odds on the latter.

Which was why, two hours ago, after countless how-are-you-doing calls, he had taken the phone off the hook. He should have expected that, when his brothers couldn’t get through to him via Ma Bell, they’d show up at his front door instead. It just went to show how muddled his thinking had grown lately that he hadn’t anticipated an unannounced visit.

The doorbell echoed again.

Carlo had half a mind to pretend he wasn’t home and to let them stand there, out in the freezing cold. He would have, too, if he hadn’t been certain they’d do something drastic in response. Like bashing the door down. Or dragging out the police force and the fire department to bash it down for them.

With a resigned sigh, he placed the square of wood beside the carving knife and stomped into the living room.

“Don’t worry,” he growled, throwing the door wide. “I haven’t died…yet….”

Instead of his brothers, a woman stood there. She was lovely. Clad entirely in black, from the turtleneck encircling her long neck to the slacks and leather boots peeping from beneath her thigh-length wool coat, she was the picture of elegance. Even her purse and gloves were black.

A short silence greeted his announcement before she softly replied, “I’m happy to hear it.” Her voice was low and husky, as if she were fighting a cold, or on the verge of hoarseness.

Hair the color of corn silk fell to her shoulders and glinted in the sunlight. Her features were delicate, well defined, her cheeks rouged by the cold air. Her mouth was full and parted in an oh of surprise. And her eyes… Death by chocolate was the only term Carlo could think of to describe them.

He suddenly grew conscious of how he must appear to her in his rumpled jeans and flannel shirt. He searched his memory, but couldn’t remember if he’d even bothered to comb his hair that morning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling and running a hand over his hair, hoping to flatten down any stray strands. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Obviously.” She sounded amused.

He hadn’t looked at a woman in over a year. Initially his injuries, and the months spent in recovery and rehabilitation, had been the cause for his lack of interest. Later, when he’d gone back to work, he’d immersed himself so thoroughly in his job that he’d lacked both the desire and the energy called for when embarking on even the shortest-term relationship.

Today, however, he was definitely looking. Oh, yes, he was. And that took him by surprise. For six days he hadn’t been able to work up an interest for much of anything, except whittling.

Maybe this was what he needed. A temporary diversion to take his mind off his troubles. Why, he wondered, hadn’t he thought of it earlier? The good news was, she was staring at him with an equal measure of startled surprise and unexpected awareness. That was promising. Very promising indeed.

She was probably some do-gooder, out collecting for charity. Or an Avon lady going door to door. Whatever it was she was selling, Carlo was definitely buying. In bulk.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I suppose I should introduce myself.”

She offered her hand, and he took it, marveling at the perfect fit when his fingers wrapped around hers.

“My name is Samantha Underwood.”

Carlo felt his fingers go rigid with shock. It couldn’t be.

“James Underwood’s wife…er, widow,” she amended, confirming his worst fears.

He dropped her hand like a hot potato and took a step back. His chest felt suddenly thick, as if it were congested with flu. Only it wasn’t the flu he was suffering from. It was something worse. Far worse. Guilt. And shame.

First he’d been honored for bravery he didn’t possess. Now the wife of the man whose death weighed on his conscience was standing before him.

What could possibly happen next? he wondered in near desperation. Would James Underwood pay a personal visit, the way Marley’s ghost did Ebenezer Scrooge, and demand retribution for Carlo’s misdeeds?

This couldn’t be happening, he told himself as his heart thudded madly and a wave of anguish surged through him. Fate was simply having a huge practical joke at his expense.

Yet it was happening. For there Samantha Underwood stood, plain as day and twice as beautiful. And he’d been leering at her as if he was the Big Bad Wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood.

What could she want from him? To denounce him? But if that were the case, why had she offered him her hand?

“You weren’t expecting me, were you?” she said at his continued silence.

Not even in his worst nightmares.

Given that the Bridgeton police force was not the largest one around—then again, it wasn’t the smallest, either—some people might think it odd that he and Samantha Underwood had never met. But James Underwood had only served under Carlo’s command for a little over a year when he died. And Carlo made it a practice not to socialize with his men, or to form close friendships with them. Things got too messy when personal feelings intruded on professional relationships.

He drew a ragged breath and struggled for composure. “Should I have been?”

Consternation crossed the fine features of her face. “Didn’t the mayor call you?”

Douglas Boyer? Why would he be calling Carlo about Samantha Underwood?

“No.”

“I’m sorry. When I spoke to him earlier today, he told me he’d clear the way for this meeting.”

Knowing the mayor the way Carlo did, the man had, in all probability, tried. Unlike most politicians, Douglas Boyer made a point of following through on his promises, campaign or otherwise. He would have fulfilled this one, too, if Carlo hadn’t taken his phone off the hook.

“It’s obvious my being here is inconvenient,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I’ll come back another time. Have the mayor contact me with whatever is good for you.”

A rush of cold air alerted Carlo to the fact that she was still standing on his doorstep. It also alerted him to the fact that his manners were woefully lacking.

He couldn’t let her go like this, not without first discovering the reason for her visit. It would drive him crazy if he didn’t.

“There’s no need to come back later. Please, Mrs. Underwood, come in.”

He led her into a living room that literally sparkled with cleanliness—not because he was a normally fastidious housekeeper, but because, whenever his hands tired from whittling, cleaning provided a welcome distraction to the thoughts that crowded his mind whenever he had an idle moment.

When he relieved her of her coat, he saw that she was model slender. That slenderness, however, didn’t stop her from having curves in all the right places.

“You have a lovely home,” she said, looking around her as she took off her gloves.

“Thank you.”

“Is that an antique?”

She inclined her head toward a mahogany writing desk. It was one of several heirlooms that had belonged to his mother, and that his father had distributed among his children when he’d sold the family home three years ago in preparation for his move to a Florida condo.

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She was stalling for time, Carlo realized. Whatever the reason for her presence in his home, it made her as nervous as it did him.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered. “Some coffee or tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him. “The reason I’m here is that I have a favor to ask of you.”

That took him aback. “You do?”

“It’s about my son.”

Both hands clasped firmly around her purse, she sank gracefully onto the sofa and lapsed into silence. So he wouldn’t tower over her and make her even more nervous, Carlo took a seat across from her in an overstuffed armchair.

“How old is your son?” he prompted, when she didn’t say anything more.

His words seemed to jolt her out of some inner reverie. “Eight.” She paused. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”

“That always works for me,” he replied in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.

She nodded her agreement. “Mayor Boyer has been wonderful to my family since James’s…death. He calls every other week or so to check in on us and to see how we’re doing.”

Her words picked up speed. “I haven’t wanted to burden him with our troubles, but when he called me this morning…” Her slender shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug. “I guess you could say he caught me at a low point. To make a long story short, I unloaded on him.”

Because he was trained to notice details, Carlo glimpsed the dark circles beneath her skillfully applied makeup. Apparently Samantha Underwood wasn’t sleeping any better at night than he was. His throat tightened. Whose fault was that?

Her fingers whitened around the purse she clutched in her lap. “I told him about Jeffrey and how withdrawn he’s become. He doesn’t speak much to anyone but me or my mother. He refuses to participate in group activities at school. At lunch and recess he sits by himself and rebuffs all attempts to include him in play. His classmates no longer invite him to come over to their homes. He won’t even ride his bike anymore, and he rarely plays outside. Basically, he either plays by himself, reads a book or watches TV.”

She broke off, her eyes wearing a look of torture that Carlo longed to erase. Though he dreaded the answer, he knew the question was one he had to ask.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since his father’s death. He’s seeing a grief counselor, but so far she hasn’t made much progress. Ditto a whole host of specialists I’ve taken him to. He…he has nightmares.”

She couldn’t know the impact her words were having on him. Each was like a single bullet, and they were fired with the deadly accuracy of the bullets that had filled the air on the awful day that James Underwood died.

“What is the favor you have to ask of me?” he said.

“After I confided in him, Mayor Boyer told me about the program you and he were involved in. He suggested I call you.”

“The Buddy System,” Carlo muttered dully.

“Yes.”

Patterned after Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America, the goal of The Buddy System was to match local children from single-parent homes with an older buddy of the appropriate sex. The program was the mayor’s baby, part of a community-oriented project he was heavily promoting in the year before his reelection. Carlo had agreed to oversee the project’s operations under duress, Douglas Boyer having twisted his arm a time or ten.

“So you want me to match Jeffrey with a buddy when the program is formally introduced a few months from now.”

“Not exactly.” Her big brown eyes bored into him, making him wonder if she could see into the darkest recesses of his soul, to the guilt that ate away at him like a cancer. “I want you to be Jeffrey’s buddy.”

Shock momentarily robbed him of the ability to speak. “Me?” he finally asked, blinking at her.

“Yes. Mayor Boyer seemed to think you would be the perfect buddy for my son. Especially now, since you’ve taken a leave of absence and have some time on your hands.”

Carlo had had to give the mayor some kind of excuse for his sudden request. He couldn’t recall exactly what he’d said, although he thought he’d muttered something about coming back to work too soon and needing more time to regroup.

Had the mayor seen through Carlo’s excuses to the underlying truth? The man was quite perceptive. Carlo couldn’t stem the thought that, by sending Samantha Underwood to him, Douglas Boyer was playing amateur psychologist.

If so, it was a dangerous game.

Carlo couldn’t help Jeffrey. He could barely take care of himself. How could he possibly be expected to act as a buddy to an eight-year-old boy? Besides, he couldn’t give the child the one thing he needed and wanted most: his father. If Jeffrey’s grief counselor hadn’t been able to help, surely Carlo wouldn’t be able to do any better.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Underwood,” he said as gently as he could. “I’m afraid I can’t be Jeffrey’s buddy. But I will promise to match Jeffrey with the most suitable buddy once the program is in place.”

Her face fell, and her voice was a whisper of pain. “I don’t think Jeffrey can wait that long.”

Her disappointment, and her obvious anguish, were almost too much for Carlo to bear. Harder yet to bear was that she had come to him, hat in hand, asking for his help. And he was letting her down. The way he’d let James Underwood down a year earlier.

“Why does it have to be me?” he asked, hearing the note of desperation in his voice. “Why not someone else on the force? I could give you the names of several men, all of whom would be more than qualified to do the job.”

“James respected you more than any other man he knew,” she told him. “He often spoke to Jeffrey about you. Although he hasn’t met you, Jeffrey knows who you are. You wouldn’t be a total stranger to him. Besides, I need someone who can help now. With Thanksgiving coming in a couple of weeks, and Christmas so soon after, I don’t think too many people will have the time to devote to Jeffrey that he needs. Especially if they have families of their own.”

“And I have the time,” Carlo murmured.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You do.”

It felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on him. “What about an uncle or a grandfather? Wouldn’t a relative be a better choice to spend time with Jeffrey?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Ideally, yes. Unfortunately, there are no uncles. For the most part, we’re a family of women. Jeffrey’s only surviving grandfather lives in Des Moines, and he’s not in good health. That leaves you, Chief Garibaldi.”

The walls closed in on him tighter, making it hard for him to breathe.

Samantha Underwood’s eyes pleaded with him. “I know I’m asking a lot. Too much, probably. But if you could see your way clear to helping Jeffrey, I’d be forever in your debt.”

That was it, then, he realized dully. He had no choice. Because the question had changed from could he do this to did he have the right to refuse Samantha Underwood’s request. And the answer was that he didn’t. He had to at least give being Jeffrey’s buddy his best shot. Because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try.

Carlo couldn’t help thinking—wishing?—that, if he was able to help the child, it would quiet some of his own demons. Leaving his job certainly hadn’t accomplished that task. Cleaning his house hadn’t. Neither had carving endless quantities of wooden figures. Maybe, if he could somehow reach Jeffrey Underwood, draw the boy out, he’d be able to come to terms with the past, which would in turn help him to come to some sort of decision about his future.

On the heels of that hopeful thought came doubt. What if he blew it? Because of him, Jeffrey Underwood didn’t have a father. Because of him, Jeffrey’s mother had been reduced to the point of begging so that the boy could have a male influence in his life. What if Carlo tried to help and only succeeded in making matters worse? Samantha Underwood had already lost her husband because of his incompetence. Could he bear it if she lost her son, too?

“Will you help me, Chief Garibaldi?” she asked again. “Will you help me help my son?”

Swallowing hard, he looked away from her hopeful face and tried to regain control of his emotions. Would it really be so hard? All he had to do was entertain the boy for a few hours each week. Having practically raised his four younger brothers, the youngest of whom had been more than a handful, Carlo felt fairly confident he could at least accomplish that task.

Returning his attention to the woman sitting across from him, he said, “Yes, Mrs. Underwood, I’ll help you. Until the program is up and running, and I can find someone else, I’ll be Jeffrey’s buddy.”

The smile she aimed at him as she surged to her feet transformed what had been a lovely face into one that was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Endless seconds passed as he stared at her, unable to summon the power to do anything else. For a moment he even thought she was going to reach out to him, to wrap her arms around him, and his heart thundered in anticipation.

When he came to his senses, self-reproach left a bitter taste in his mouth. What had he been thinking? That she was going to embrace him? And, if she had, would he have ruined what surely would have been a gesture of gratitude by covering her mouth with his own?

Lord, he had to be the biggest fool in town. If ever there was a woman who was off-limits, it was Samantha Underwood. Because if he ever told her the truth, she would never smile at him again.

“I can’t thank you enough, Chief Garibaldi,” she said. “You’ve taken such a weight off my mind.”

Carlo didn’t want her thanks. What he did want was for her to go, so he could think clearly again.

When he helped her into her coat, his hand accidentally grazed her cheek. He heard her indrawn breath of surprise in the second before he pulled away from the contact.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked, feeling decidedly shaky.

“You meet Jeffrey. Are you available Saturday morning?”

“Is ten o’clock okay?”

“Ten o’clock would be perfect.” She handed him a piece of paper with her address and phone number.

At the front door, he forced himself to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry about James,” he said. She’d never know how sorry. “He was a good man. It was a privilege to serve with him.”

The sorrow that filled her beautiful brown eyes let him know that, despite the spark of interest he thought he glimpsed earlier, her heart still belonged firmly to her late husband.

“Thank you.”

Carlo didn’t know what was worse. Receiving Samantha Underwood’s thanks, or realizing that, for the next several months, he would be spending a lot of time in her company.

“I really wanted to pay my respects, after James died,” he felt compelled to say. Unfortunately, his injuries had made that impossible.

She nodded her understanding. “And I meant to visit you in the hospital. Thank you again, Chief Garibaldi.”

He followed her out onto the front porch and watched while she climbed into her car and drove away. He was still standing there five minutes later, eyes shielded against the sun, when his brothers arrived.

“Did you speak to him?” her mother asked the minute Samantha walked through the front door.

Samantha shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the closet. “Yes.”

“And?”

She turned to face the older woman. “He’ll do it.”

Maxine Miller’s hands went to her heart. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“Yes,” Samantha echoed hollowly. “Thank goodness.”

Her mother frowned. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

The euphoria she’d felt after Carlo Garibaldi had agreed to be Jeffrey’s buddy had worn off during the drive home. While she was still thrilled that he’d agreed to help her, she was less than happy about the method she’d used to earn that agreement.

“That’s because I guilted him into it.”

“How did you do that?”

“By basically telling him that he was the only man who could do the job. He would have been heartless to refuse.”

“A less than honorable man would have had no problem refusing,” Maxine pointed out.

“Yes,” Samantha agreed. “And, as we all know, Carlo Garibaldi is an honorable man. Which just proves my original argument.”

A look of sympathy crossed her mother’s face. “You did the right thing, honey. In this case, the ends definitely justify the means.”

“Knowing that doesn’t make me feel any better.” Samantha sighed. “Where’s Jeffrey?”

“Upstairs in his room.”

Her already heavy heart grew heavier. “I suppose it was too much to hope he’d be outside, playing with one of his friends.”

“Oh, Sam.” Maxine’s eyes filled with tears.

Samantha felt her throat thicken, and she quickly looked away. Though she longed to, she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of a good cry. She was afraid that, once she started, she would never stop.

“I hate to see you worry like this,” her mother said. “You have to understand that what happened to Jeffrey is a tragedy few children his age experience. It’s only natural he would withdraw the way he has.”

“I didn’t.” Nineteen years earlier, under circumstances eerily similar to the ones that had cost James his life, Samantha’s father had been killed in the line of duty.

“You were thirteen when your father died, not seven. And you had your two older sisters to help you through.”

“Maybe. But it’s been a year, Mom. What should have been the hardest part is already behind us. The first Thanksgiving without James. The first Christmas. The first birthday. Yet Jeffrey isn’t getting any better. If anything, he’s getting worse.”

“Have patience, honey. And faith. He’ll come back to us. I know he will.”

Samantha wished she could be so certain. She drew a long, shuddering breath. It tore at her heart to think of her child being so alone. Before James’s death, Jeffrey had been so outgoing, so alive. And now…

Swallowing, she said, “To tell you the truth, Mom, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

She was a nurse. She’d dedicated her life to helping others. It tortured her that she couldn’t do anything to help her own son. She could bandage a cut, soothe a fevered brow, but she had no idea how to heal the bruising of Jeffrey’s soul. With every day that passed, he slipped further and further away from her. No matter how hard she tried, Samantha couldn’t reach him.

“Would you like me to come over for a couple of evenings this week, so you can get out on your own?” Maxine asked. “Maybe some time by yourself would help.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. I worry about Jeffrey whether I’m with him or not.”

“I could just come and keep you company.”

Once again, Samantha found herself blinking back tears. “I’d like that, Mom. Very much.”

“I think going to Chief Garibaldi was a step in the right direction. Having Jeffrey spend time with someone who knew and worked with his father might just be able to bring about the breakthrough we’ve been praying for.”

“I certainly hope so,” Samantha said fervently. So much rode on this relationship working out. The stakes were incredibly high. Too high?

“What’s he like?” Maxine asked.

“Who?”

“Chief Garibaldi.”

Samantha’s heart thudded as she recalled her first glimpse of him. “Oh.”

“Well?” Maxine gazed at her pointedly.

“He’s…just like James described him.” And so much more.

“His picture was in the paper last week. He was honored for his actions that day.”

“I know,” Samantha said softly. “I saw it.”

After speaking to Mayor Boyer that morning, Samantha had dug the newspaper in question out of the pile to be placed at the curb on recycling day. Though grainy, the photograph on the front page had arrested her attention. She’d seen his cap of unruly black hair, his broad forehead, his piercing brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence, his classic Roman nose and his determined chin, and had known exactly what to expect when she met him: a man who, like her husband, was filled with an unswerving dedication to right all wrongs.

What she hadn’t expected was his smoldering sensuality, or the helpless way she had responded to it.

Guilt stabbed at her as she faced a truth she’d been trying to hide from since the moment she’d laid eyes on her son’s buddy. Her husband, whom she’d loved more than life itself, had been gone just over a year, and she’d stood on Carlo Garibaldi’s front doorstep, gaping at him like a hormone-struck teenager. Her son needed help desperately, and all she’d been able to think about was the breadth of his shoulders, the depth of his brown eyes, and the fullness of his lips. What had gotten into her?

She supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was nothing like she had anticipated. When he’d answered his door, her first reaction, before awareness set in, had been amazement that he wasn’t taller. After the way James had sung Carlo’s praises, Samantha had expected him to be almost Paul Bunyanesque in stature. To discover that he was a good two inches shy of the six-foot mark had been a surprise.

What he lacked in height, however, he more than made up for with his dark good looks, sheer force of personality and well-muscled physique. He’d looked so strong, so capable, that Samantha had found herself repressing a ridiculous desire to lean her head on his shoulder and tell him all her troubles.

When she’d realized how he affected her, she’d almost turned on her heel and walked away. Instead, for Jeffrey’s sake, she’d forced herself to offer him her hand.

Since there was no way she could talk to her mother about this, Samantha decided that a change of subject was in order. “When do you leave on your cruise?” she asked.

“A week from tomorrow.”

Because Lawrence Miller had been killed on Thanksgiving Day, Maxine always took a cruise over the holiday—the exception being the preceding year because it had been too soon after James’s death. Getting away was her mother’s way of dealing with her loss.

“You really don’t mind me going?” Maxine asked.

“Why should I mind?”

Her mother shrugged. “I’m not sure I should be leaving you alone just now.”

“I’m not alone, Mom,” Samantha said gently. “I have Jeffrey. We’ll be just fine.”

She was stretching the truth somewhat. Things wouldn’t be truly fine until Jeffrey was himself again. But the last thing Samantha wanted was for her mother to worry about the two of them while she was on her cruise.

“If you say so.” The doubt in Maxine’s voice made her ambivalence clear.

“I say so.”

“If only your sisters didn’t live so far away.”

Bridget, Samantha’s oldest sister, was a financial analyst on Wall Street. Colleen, the middle child, was an electrical engineer and lived in Los Angeles. Both were so wrapped up in their careers that they rarely made it back home.

“It’s a sign of the times,” Samantha said.

“A sad sign, if you ask me,” her mother replied.

Silence reigned while Maxine followed Samantha out to the kitchen. Against her will, Samantha’s thoughts returned to Carlo Garibaldi and her reaction to him. Her mother had grieved for nineteen years now for the man she had lost. To the best of Samantha’s knowledge, in all that time Maxine had never looked at another man.

Samantha had looked long and hard at Carlo Garibaldi. What did that make her?

Her unwelcome awareness of him wasn’t important, she told herself. She certainly wasn’t going to act on it. All that mattered was that Jeffrey get well again.

Pairing Jeffrey with Carlo Garibaldi was a last-ditch effort to break down the walls he had erected between himself and the rest of the world. With all her heart and soul, Samantha prayed it would work. Because, while she herself didn’t know how to reach her son, she was certain of one thing. If someone didn’t get through to Jeffrey soon, she stood a good chance of losing him altogether.