A Mom for Callie (10 page)

Today's events included a story about a child in Cedar Creek who was found safe after wandering away from his home early that morning. A lucky cameraman, on hand to document the reunion between mother and child, provided the kind of visual footage that pulled at viewers' heartstrings—Betsy's included.

The second story involved the Cedar Creek Police Department and a rumored threat to one of its police officers. As Kyle's face emerged on the screen, Betsy sat up straight, her hand swiping at a stray tear from the previous story. According to the reporter who'd filed the report, rumors were swirling about Kyle's safety following the robbery at Linton Bank and Trust.

As the reporter spoke, it became obvious the story was constructed on limited details, none of which were being backed up by officials. But still, it would explain the presence of the home security company parked
outside Kyle's home, the way his jaw tightened when she asked about the suspect at the school program, and the undeniable mood shift he'd displayed the night Callie called from her grandmother's house.

Was Kyle really in danger? And by extension, did that purported danger include Callie?

A shiver ran down her spine as she reached for the phone. Dialing Angela Murphy's number, she waited as ring after ring went unanswered. Finally, on the sixth ring, she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Angela—I mean, Ang? It's Betsy.”

“Hi! Wow. Do you know that even after hanging out on your birthday, helping you look for a house and playing volleyball together in Kyle's backyard, I'm still having a hard time believing I actually know you?”

Surprised by the breathless excitement in Angela's voice, Betsy closed her eyes, willed herself to steer clear of the hurt that had landed her in front of the television in the first place. “I'm no different than you. I just write for a living.”

“And entertain. And go out on tours. And sign books. And show up on morning news programs when each book comes out.”

She let Angela's words wash over her, waiting for them to bring at least some small measure of a smile to her lips. But they didn't. Her mind, her thoughts, her concern were in one place and one place only.

“Did you see the news just now?”

“No. Why?”

The floodgates opened, words flowing from her mouth. “They said Kyle is in danger. Something to do with the bank robbery the other day.” She heard the panic in her voice, felt a familiar fear building inside.

“Oh. That.”

“So it's true?” she asked as she tightened her grip on the phone.

Several seconds elapsed before Angela responded. “It appears as if the guys they caught were members of a new gang. At best, they're a group of thugs with wounded egos. At worst, they're an actual gang, trying to get noticed by a bigger one. They were responsible for two other robberies before you arrived. Those, they got away with.”

She felt her stomach flip-flop and she reached for a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to dispel the sensation. Angela continued.

“Anyway, you were dead-on about the suspect and the camera that first night at the pizza place. Someone, who has been unwilling to step forward as yet, tipped off the department to the fact that some very real nonverbal communication was going on in that picture—a rally cry for retribution.”

“And since Kyle is the officer standing next to him in that shot, he's become the target of that rally cry?”

“It looks that way.”

She inhaled slowly, her mind trying desperately to process everything she was hearing. “Is that why Callie has been spending so much time at her grandmother's?”

“Yes.”

Lifting the curtain beside the couch, she peered outside for the umpteenth time that morning. “Is that why there's a home security truck parked outside Kyle's house right now?”

“Yes.”

Her instincts had been right. Kyle was in danger. Real danger.

“Betsy? Are you okay?”

It was just as her head had been trying to warn her heart from the beginning. Police officers, like firefighters, didn't have safe jobs. Fires killed. And criminals looking for payback killed, too.

It was a fact.

“Betsy?”

Mark's death had robbed him of a life he loved. And it had robbed them of a chance to find out whether they could turn their marriage around.

His death had also sent her spiraling into a depression that had affected every aspect of her life for nearly a year. A depression she was just now beginning to shed. Did she really want to go back to a life like that? Could she?

“I can't do this,” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Um…”

“Do what?” Angela repeated. “C'mon…tell me.”

She was unable to hold her fears in any longer. “Travel this road again. It nearly destroyed me the first time. Mark said he could handle things, too. But he got trapped in a fire anyway. And now there's Kyle.”

Silence filled her ear for a moment. Finally, Angela spoke, her words small comfort against a reality she knew all too well. “I read about your husband and I'm sorry. It was a tragic, horrible accident. But those happen every day, Betsy. Whether you're a firefighter or a police officer or some person simply standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can't walk away from the good things in life simply because of what
might
happen. He'll be okay, Betsy. Kyle is a smart guy. Tom says he's working this case during all hours of the night…tracking leads, talking to people, piecing the identity of this
gang together little by little. He'll have them rounded up in no time.”

“And if he doesn't?”

“You can't let ifs rule your life, Betsy.”

It was a sentiment she'd heard before. “Look, I better go. I have to get back to the computer.” She stood, her eyes riveted on the paneled truck next door. “My editor wanted this book a zillion yesterdays ago.”

She knew she was being dismissive cutting their conversation short this way, but she couldn't help it…

It was time for her heart to stop calling the shots.

Kyle sat in his car, staring at Betsy's house. He'd been so hopeful his partner's suggestion of chocolate would be enough to smooth away any brusqueness he may have exuded the last time he saw her. But now, after Tom's call, he wasn't so sure.

Chocolate was okay for things like a snippy tone or a bout of miscommunication, but it didn't stand a chance against fear.

And Betsy was scared.

He got that. Heck, he was scared, too. Hurt came in different packages. And, for whatever reason, they were being thrust into a situation that had an uneasy pang of familiarity for both of them.

Betsy was a celebrity in her own right. Yet, she wasn't Lila. Not from what he'd seen so far, anyway.

He was a police officer facing a potentially dangerous situation like Betsy's late husband. Only he wasn't Mark. Sure, he took his job seriously. But it didn't define him and it never would. Fatherhood did that.

Somehow, someway, he needed to convince Betsy of that while apologizing for his own missteps. Unfortunately, based on the heads-up he'd just gotten from Tom, the convincing part was going to be the hardest.

He swung his gaze toward the white paneled truck outside his home, the security company's logo a nice warning to anyone scoping the neighborhood. He'd really thought he was getting close. The family ties between the two bank robbers had been tricky to trace but he'd accomplished it nonetheless. And thanks to a few sources who'd been willing to talk to him at one of the local bars earlier in the week, the suspects had kin in a few neighboring counties—all of whom had criminal records.

Slowly but surely he'd been piecing together the members of the family, discarding those who seemed unlikely to be part of a gang. But time was no longer a luxury. The notion they might have him in their crosshairs was now a reality.

Maybe Tom had been right. Maybe Betsy
should
go back to New York to finish her book. Maybe it truly was the safest way to go.

Only problem was, he wanted her here.

Squaring his shoulders, he opened the driver's side door and stepped onto the road, his focus firmly planted on Betsy's front door. Propelled forward by her image, he bypassed his own home in favor of hers, turning back only to retrieve the box of chocolates Tom had convinced him to buy earlier in the day.

When he finally reached her front porch, he held the ribbon-wrapped package behind his back and rang the bell with the other, the sound wafting through the windows on either side of the door. Footsteps followed as did a stirring in his chest at the sight of Betsy walking toward him in a pair of body-hugging white shorts and a tropical blue T-shirt.

Resisting the urge to yank the door open and pull her into his arms, he simply smiled, an expression he
realized she did not mirror—with her mouth or her eyes. His heart sank.

“Kyle.”

“Hi, Betsy. How are you today?” He knew the words were forced, stilted even, but he was suddenly tongue-tied, his resolve weakened by her demeanor. “Fine. Busy.”

“Are you writing?”

“Trying to.”

He winced at her aloofness, willed himself to concentrate on the task at hand. “That's good. Look, I wanted to stop by for several reasons.”

She waited, the screen door still separating them.

“First, an apology. I'm sorry I was so evasive yesterday. I guess I'm not used to having someone to talk to about work. I've been single for a long time. And it never dawned on me that by leaving you in the dark, I may have been causing you unneeded stress.”

“I'm not sure telling me every single detail would make a difference.”

He held his palm up against the screen. “I'm going to be okay, Betsy.”

“That's what Mark always said.”

“But I'm not Mark. I've never made the job the focus of my every waking minute. I have Callie for that. And knowing she's counting on me is all the reminder I need to play it smart. She needs a father, not a cowboy, Betsy.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, a sign he took to keep going.

“Which brings me to the second thing—a thank-you. For doing Callie's hair…for coming to the reading…for encouraging her to write that unforgettable poem that I will treasure for the rest of my life.”

“She told you about that?”

“Yeah, she did. She told me she wrote it all, but that it was your idea to put her feelings for me onto paper.”

Betsy shrugged, a noncommittal gesture probably designed to mask the thawing in her eyes. But he saw it anyway.

Buoyed by the possibility he was making headway, he continued. “And because Tom seems to know more about women than I do, I brought you a present.” He pulled the box from behind his back and held it toward the screen door.

When she said nothing, he rushed to speak, his words sounding silly even to his own ears. “If this isn't your equivalent to a guy's beer gene, I apologize. But he insisted it was and I remembered how much you seemed to enjoy the brownies the other night at our picnic and—”

“Beer gene?”

“Yeah. Tom says all women like chocolate as a peace offering. That it's in your genes. Like beer is for most guys.”

She laughed, a sound he welcomed in more ways than one.

“So? Was he right?”

“About the chocolate? Or the peace offering part?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I want him to be right, Kyle, I really do. It's just that…well, I'm scared.”

“So am I.”

The reappearance of fear on her face made him rush to explain. “I'm feeling things for you I vowed I wouldn't let myself feel again. And, like you, there's a measure of fear that comes with not knowing whether I might be wrong about you.”

She studied him for a long moment, a visual inspection he welcomed as a sign of progress. What, exactly, she was thinking, he didn't know. But at least she was finally looking at him.

Baby steps.

Jutting her chin in the direction of his house she finally spoke, her tone tinged with an undeniable pinch of worry. “So what's with the security system?”

He pondered the various things he could say, techniques to soften the blow, but he opted, instead, for the truth. It was the only way.

“There's a chance I've pissed off some people. And there's a chance they might want to exact a little retribution.” He shifted foot to foot. “So…we're taking a few precautions.”

“Like a security system to protect Callie?”

“Yes. Though she's staying with my mom right now. I feel better knowing she's there.”

She pointed at the bulge under his shirt. “Like carrying your weapon home from work?”

“Yes. And like asking you to keep your doors and windows locked and to call me the second you hear anything unusual.”

Her eyes widened as her mouth gaped open.

“A picture showed up at work today.”

“A picture?”

He nodded. “Of you.”

“I don't understand.”

“Whoever these guys are, they've tied you to me.” He raked a hand through his hair with a renewed sense of frustration. “There's a chance they're just blowing smoke. Trying to freak me out. But there's a chance they're not. And that's enough of a chance for me.”

He waited, giving her time to process everything
he'd thrown at her. When she finally spoke, he hung on every word. “I need to know you're taking care of
you.
I don't want you distracted by some phantom threat to me. Maybe I should just go back to New York.”

“No! Please. Give me a chance to do my job and look out for you.”

“Look out for me?” she asked as she peered up at him through thick lashes.

“While I'm at work, maybe you could take your laptop to the library or the coffee shop and write there.”

“Okay…”

“And once I'm home, where I can keep an eye on things, you could come back.”

“But won't you want to be at your mom's? Spending time with Callie?”

He shook his head. “Not if it means leading them to her. No, I need to stay here…where I can be sure you're okay, too.”

She pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “I'll be okay if I know you are, too.”

He stared at her in awe, her concern for him reaching deep inside his soul. Betsy Anderson was a keeper. Of that, there was no doubt.

How to make her
his
keeper, though, was anyone's guess.

 

“I
F YOU'D FEEL SAFER
, you could stay here,” he said as he led her down the hallway and into the spare room beside Callie's. “It's nothing fancy but it would be adequate. And you could write here during the day now that I have the alarm system.”

She peeked over his shoulder at the full-size bed neatly covered with a colonial-style spread, her thoughts
traveling to places she knew they shouldn't. Kyle was worried about her safety and nothing more.

And she was terrified for his.

“I'm sure I'll be fine in my own home,” she said, her voice suddenly raspy. “I'm a big girl, you know.”

“I just don't know what these guys are up to yet. They've established the fact that we were at Callie's reading together. And while I'd like to assume they'd target me directly, I just can't be sure.”

“I just want them to go away…move on to another town somewhere else.”

“And if they do, they'll just be a danger to someone else. No, this needs to be stopped. Here.” He leaned against the east wall of the room, his gaze lingering on the bed for a moment before reengaging hers. “You sure I can't talk you into staying with me?”

She shook her head. “The eye stuff and the baseball bat will be fine.”

“Okay.” He pulled open the top dresser drawer and extracted a can of pepper spray. “You spray it in an intruder's eyes just the way I said and—” he shut the drawer and reached behind the bed “—then you hit him with this baseball bat for good measure.”

“For good measure,” she repeated as she sat down on the edge of the bed then dropped across it like a rag doll. “And what do you have?”

“What do you mean?”

“To protect yourself?”

“My gun for starters.”

Grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed, Betsy hugged it against her chest, Kyle's answer bringing a lump to her throat that made talking difficult. Instead, she simply nodded, hoped the response would be enough to ward off a potentially painful conversation.

It didn't work. He persisted. “You're
that
worried about me right now?”

“I have been since that first day.”

A huskiness overtook his voice as his finger trailed down her chin and along the side of her neck. “You worry about people a lot, huh?”

“Not really, no. But I do…about you.” She closed her eyes as his finger left the nape of her neck, the heat from his skin making her long for more. When his fingers stopped just shy of her breasts, she opened her eyes, peered at him through tear-dappled lashes. “I want you to be safe. For Callie.”

“For Callie?” he repeated.

“Y-yes.”

Anchoring his hands beneath her arms, he scooted her upward until the upper half of her body was cradled in his arms. “Because I'm getting a sense there's something else going on here.”

She swallowed. “Something else?”

“Yeah. Like this…” He leaned forward, his mouth coming down on hers. With a burst of intensity he slipped his tongue between her lips, reveled in the moan of desire that ensued.

As the kiss grew even deeper, his hands began to roam, his fingers following the same path they'd forged earlier, this time failing to stop at the same place. As he reached the curve of her breast, he pulled back. “Am I warm?”

“Warm?”

“Yeah…am I getting closer to figuring out what else is going on here?”

“I—” She stopped as his mouth trailed his fingers down her neck. When his mouth reached the swell of her breast, his hand moved ahead to the buttons on her
shirt. As the fabric fell from her body, he pulled back once again, the appreciation in his eyes bringing a shiver down her spine.

With a practiced hand, he unhooked her bra. She squirmed with pleasure as he brought his mouth to her breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Slowly, deliberately, she arched her back, her breast jutting forward against his mouth. He sucked harder, intensifying her moan tenfold.

And then he stopped, his body tensing as he bolted upright on the bed, the pace of their breathing no longer in sync.

“What's wrong?” she whispered as her fingers threaded through his hair and tried to bring his mouth down to her body once again.

“Shh.” With one finger to his lips, Kyle slid out from underneath her, rising from the bed and disappearing into the hallway with the stealth of a cat.

She strained to pick out a sound of any kind as his shadow grew smaller, his footsteps nearly impossible to detect.

A vaguely familiar yet entirely different fear gripped her heart as she, too, scooted off the bed, her hands finding the buttons of her shirt and securing them once again. For what seemed like the ten most magical minutes of her life, Betsy had finally gotten a glimpse of what passion truly meant. Never, during her engagement or relatively short marriage to Mark, had she ever felt the way Kyle made her feel.

His touch electrified her, made her feel wanted and needed and, even, sexy. But as wonderful as it was to feel needed by someone else, she had absolutely no intention of ever letting herself feel that way for someone else.

Need spawned weakness. She knew that, believed it with every ounce of her being.

Life was unpredictable enough on its own. Why on earth would she willingly choose to fall head over heels in love with someone who could be ripped from her life at any moment? Living through tragedy was hard enough. Living through tragedy with a shattered heart was simply unfathomable.