Building the Perfect Daddy (21 page)

“See if you can find a small plate for the pie while I dish up the stew,” she instructed Chloe.

“Okay,” her daughter said.

The nervous note in her voice broke Andie's heart, especially when she thought of the bold child who used to run out to confront the world.

“Do I have to carry it out there?” Chloe asked.

“Not if you don't want to, honey. You can wait right here in the kitchen or in the entryway, if you want.”

While Chloe perched on one of the kitchen stools and watched, Andie prepared a tray for Marshall, trying to make it as tempting as possible. She had a feeling his appetite wouldn't be back to normal for a few days because of the pain and the aftereffects of anesthesia, but at least the fault wouldn't lie in her presentation.

It didn't take long, but it still gave her time to make note of the few changes in the kitchen. In the few months Wynona had been gone, Marshall Bailey had left his mark. The kitchen was clean but not sparkling, and where Wyn had kept a cheery bowl of fruit on the counter, a pair of handcuffs and a stack of mail cluttered the space. Young Pete's food and water bowls were presumably in Boise with Young Pete.

As she looked at the space on the floor where they usually rested, she suddenly remembered dogs weren't the only creatures who needed beverages.

“I forgot to fill Sheriff Bailey's water bottle,” she said to Chloe. “Could you do that for me?”

Chloe hopped down from her stool and picked up the water bottle. With her bottom lip pressed firmly between her teeth, she filled the water bottle with ice and water from the refrigerator before screwing the lid back on and held it out for Andie.

“Thanks, honey. Oh, the tray's pretty full and I don't have a free hand. I guess I'll have to make another trip for it.”

As she had hoped, Chloe glanced at the tray and then at the doorway with trepidation on her features that eventually shifted to resolve.

“I guess I can maybe carry it for you,” she whispered.

Andie smiled and rubbed a hand over Chloe's hair, heart bursting with pride at this brave little girl. “Thank you, Chloe. You're always such a big help to me.”

Chloe mustered a smile, though it didn't stick. “You'll be right there?”

“The whole time. Where do you suppose that brother of yours is?”

She suspected the answer, even before she and Chloe walked back to the den and she heard Will chattering.

“And I want a new Lego set and a sled and some real walkie-talkies like my friend Ty has. He has his own pony and I want one of those, too. Only, my mama says I can't have one because we don't have a place for him to run. Ty lives on a ranch and we only have a little backyard and we don't have a barn or any hay for a pony to eat. That's what horses eat—did you know that?”

Rats. Had she actually been stupid enough to fall for that “I have to go to the bathroom” gag? She should have known better. Will probably raced right back in here the moment her back was turned.

“I did know that. And oats and barley, too,” Sheriff Bailey said. His voice, several octaves below Will's, rippled down her spine. Did he sound annoyed? She couldn't tell. Mostly, his voice sounded remote.

“We have oatmeal at our house and my mom puts barley in soup sometimes, so why couldn't we have a pony?”

She should probably rescue the man. He just had one leg broken by a hit-and-run driver. He didn't need the other one talked off by an almost-five-year-old. She moved into the room just in time to catch the tail end of the discussion.

“A pony is a pretty big responsibility,” Marshall said.

“So is a dog and a cat and we have one of each, a dog named Sadie and a cat named Mrs. Finnegan,” Will pointed out.

“But a pony is a lot more work than a dog
or
a cat. Anyway, how would one fit on Santa's sleigh?”

Judging by his peal of laughter, Will apparently thought that was hilarious.

“He couldn't! You're silly.”

She had to wonder if anyone had ever called the serious sheriff
silly
before. She winced and carried the tray inside the room, judging it was past time to step in.

“Here you go. Dinner. Again, don't get your hopes up. I'm an adequate cook, but that's about it.”

She set the food down on the end table next to the sofa and found a folded wooden TV tray she didn't remember from her frequent visits to the house when Wynona lived here. She set up the TV tray and transferred the food to it, then gestured for Chloe to bring the water bottle. Her daughter hurried over without meeting his gaze, set the bottle on the tray, then rushed back to the safety of the kitchen as soon as she could.

Marshall looked at the tray, then at her, leaving her feeling as if
she
were the silly one.

“Thanks. It looks good. I appreciate your kindness,” he said stiffly, as if the words were dragged out of him.

He had to know any kindness on her part was out of obligation toward Wynona. The thought made her feel rather guilty. He was her neighbor and she should be more enthusiastic about helping him, whether he made her nervous or not.

“Where is your cell phone?” she asked. “You need some way to contact the outside world.”

“Why?”

She frowned. “Because people are concerned about you! You just got out of the hospital a few hours ago. You need pain medicine at regular intervals and you're probably supposed to have ice on that leg or something.”

“I'm fine, as long as I can get to the bathroom and the kitchen and I have the remote close at hand.”

Such a typical man. She huffed out a breath. “At least think of the people who care about you. Wyn is out of her head with worry, especially since your mother and Katrina aren't in town.”

“Why do you think I didn't charge my phone?” he muttered.

She crossed her arms across her chest. She didn't like confrontation or big, dangerous men any more than her daughter did, but Wynona had asked her to watch out for him and she took the charge seriously.

“You're being obstinate. What if you trip over your crutches and hit your head, only this time somebody isn't at the door to make sure you can get up again?”

“That's not going to happen.”

“You don't know that. Where is your phone, Sheriff?”

He glowered at her but seemed to accept the inevitable. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “It should be in the pocket of my jacket, which is in the bag they sent home with me from the hospital. I think my deputy said he left it in the bedroom. First door on the left.”

The deputy should have made sure his boss had some way to contact the outside world, but she had a feeling it was probably a big enough chore getting Sheriff Bailey home from the hospital without him trying to drive himself and she decided to give the poor guy some slack.

“I'm going to assume the charger is in there, too.”

“Yeah. By the bed.”

She walked down the hall to the room that had once been Wyn's bedroom. The bedroom still held traces of Wynona in the solid Mission furniture set, but Sheriff Bailey had stamped his own personality on it in the last three months. A Stetson hung on one of the bedposts and instead of mounds of pillows and the beautiful log cabin quilt Wyn's aunts had made her, a no-frills but soft-looking navy duvet covered the bed, made neatly as he had probably left it the morning before. A pile of books waited on the bedside table and a pair of battered cowboy boots stood toe-out next to the closet.

The room smelled masculine and entirely too sexy for her peace of mind, of sage-covered mountains with an undertone of leather and spice.

Except for that brief moment when she had helped him reposition the pillow, she had never been close enough to Marshall to see if that scent clung to his skin. The idea made her shiver a little before she managed to rein in the wholly inappropriate reaction.

She found the plastic hospital bag on the wide armchair near the windows overlooking the snow-covered pines along the river. Feeling strangely guilty at invading the man's privacy, she opened it. At the top of the pile that appeared to contain mostly clothing, she found another large clear bag with a pair of ripped jeans inside covered in a dried dark substance she realized was blood.

Marshall Bailey's blood.

The stark reminder of his close call sent a tremor through her. He could have been killed if that hit-and-run driver had struck him at a slightly higher rate of speed. The Baileys likely wouldn't have recovered, especially since Wyn's twin brother, Wyatt, had been struck and killed by an out-of-control vehicle while helping a stranded motorist during a winter storm.

The jeans weren't ruined beyond repair. Maybe she could spray stain remover on them and try to mend the rips and tears.

Further searching through the bag finally unearthed the phone. She found the charger next to the bed and carried the phone, charger and bag containing the Levi's back to the sheriff.

While she was gone from the room, he had pulled the tray close and was working on the dinner roll in a desultory way.

She plugged the charger into the same outlet as the lamp next to the sofa and inserted the other end into his phone. “Here you are. I'll let you turn it on. Now you'll have no excuse not to talk to your family when they call.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

Andie held out the bag containing the jeans. “Do you mind if I take these? I'd like to see if I can get the stains out and do a little repair work.”

“It's not worth the effort. I don't even know why they sent them home. The paramedics had to cut them away to get to my leg.”

“You never know. I might be able to fix them.”

He shrugged, his eyes wearing that distant look again. He was in pain, she realized, and trying very hard not to show it.

“If you power on your phone and unlock it, I can put my cell number in there so you can reach me in an emergency.”

“I won't—” he started to say, but the sentence ended with a sigh as he reached for the phone.

As soon as he turned it on, the phone gave a cacophony of beeps, alerting him to missed texts and messages, but he paid them no attention.

“What's your number?”

She gave it to him and in turn entered his into her own phone.

“Please don't be stubborn. If you need help, call me. I'm just a few houses away and can be here in under two minutes—and that's even if I have to take time to put on boots and a winter coat.”

He likely wouldn't call and both of them knew it.

“Are we almost done?” Will asked from the doorway, clearly tired of having only his sister to talk to in the other room.

“In a moment,” she said, then turned back to Marshall. “Do you know Herm and Louise Jacobs, next door?”

Oddly, he gaped at her for a long, drawn-out moment. “Why do you ask?” His voice was tight with suspicion.

“If I'm not around and you need help for some reason, they or their grandson Christopher can be here even faster. I'll put their number in your phone, too, just in case.”

“I doubt I'll need it, but...thanks.”

“Christopher has a skateboard, a big one,” Will offered gleefully. “He rides it without even a helmet!”

Her son had a bad case of hero worship when it came to the Jacobses' troubled grandson, who had come to live with Herm and Louise shortly after Andie and her children arrived in Haven Point. It worried her a little to see how fascinated Will was with the clearly rebellious teenager, but so far Christopher had been patient and even kind to her son.

“That's not very safe, is it?” the sheriff said gruffly. “You should always wear a helmet when you're riding a bike or skateboard to protect your head.”

“I don't even
have
a skateboard,” Will said.

“If you get one,” Marshall answered. This time she couldn't miss the clear strain in his voice. The man was at the end of his endurance and probably wanted nothing more than to be alone with his pain.

“We really do need to leave,” Andie said quickly. “Is there anything else I can do to help you before we leave?”

He shook his head, then winced a little as if the motion hurt. “You've done more than enough already.”

“Try to get some rest, if you can. I'll check in with you tomorrow and also bring something for your lunch.”

He didn't exactly look overjoyed at the prospect. “I don't suppose I can say anything to persuade you otherwise, can I?”

“You're a wise man, Sheriff Bailey.”

Will giggled. “Where's your gold and Frankenstein?”

Marshall blinked, obviously as baffled as she was, which only made Will giggle more.

“Like in the Baby Jesus story, you know. The wise men brought the gold, Frankenstein and mirth.”

She did her best to hide a smile. This year Will had become fascinated with the small carved Nativity set she bought at a thrift store the first year she moved out of her grandfather's cheerless house.

“Oh. Frankincense and myrrh. They were perfumes and oils, I think. When I said Sheriff Bailey was a wise man, I just meant he was smart.”

She was a little biased, yes, but she couldn't believe even the most hardened of hearts wouldn't find her son adorable. The sheriff only studied them both with that dour expression.

He was in pain, she reminded herself. If she were in his position, she wouldn't find a four-year-old's chatter amusing, either.

“We'll see you tomorrow,” she said again. “Call me, even if it's the middle of the night.”

“I will,” he said, which she knew was a blatant fib. He would never call her.

She had done all she could, short of moving into his house—kids, pets and all.

She gathered the children part of that equation and ushered them out of the house. Darkness came early this close to the winter solstice, but the Jacobs family's Christmas lights next door gleamed through the snow.