Nightwatch (5 page)

Jill knew Mitch would have simply pushed his way out if he had been alone. While carrying and guarding the children, however, his hands were literally full. He'd never do anything to endanger them. And the way Natalie was cursing and wildly waving her arms, it looked as if they were running out of time. If someone didn't act soon, Mitch would find himself—and the children—in the midst of a melee.

Jill was still trying to decide what to do when she gave the door a gentle push. It not only opened, it squeaked!

Natalie stopped midtirade. Whirled. Gaped at Jill. Then her jaw snapped closed and her eyes narrowed. “You! Out of my house. Get out of my house!”

That was Mitch's cue. With the boys in tow, he bent low over Megan to protect her and made a dash for the door.

Although Jill stepped aside, he jostled her in passing.

She recovered her balance, slammed the door behind the last child and followed Mitch's gruff order to “Come on.”

They reached the front lawn just as Sheriff Harlan Allgood rolled up, red and blue lights flashing.

Mitch made straight for the police car and stopped on the opposite side of it. By this time Megan was not only fully awake, she was bawling in fright.

With open arms, Jill beckoned to Mitch. “Give her to me.”

Although his expression showed reluctance, he did hand over the squalling toddler. Jill watched him ignore the sheriff long enough to crouch and comfort the frightened little boys.

“It'll be okay, guys. I'll do my best to make sure your aunt doesn't take you away again,” Mitch said. “I promise.”

Then he straightened and faced the lawman. “Hi, Harlan. I just went inside and got these kids. And I'd do it again if I had to. I don't care if Natalie Stevens is their kin, she had no business taking them out of the hospital without permission.” He gestured toward the social worker who was rapidly approaching. “Ask her. She'll tell you they don't belong in that house.”

Just then, a dusty, battered pickup truck slued around the corner and sped recklessly toward the gathering in front of Natalie's house.

Jill didn't recognize the driver. “Who's that?”

“Thad Pearson,” Mitch replied, his scowl deepening. “Looks like he got word through the grapevine. Just what we need. Another relative to argue with.”

“He's Rob's brother, right? I'd never actually met him but I had heard there was a strong family resemblance.”

“Thad and Rob do—did—look alike. That's about all they had in common. Thad's always been the fighter, which undoubtedly helped him when he was a Marine.”
He gave Jill a look of disdain. “See that you stay out of it this time. I mean it.”

“Hey, you didn't seem to mind my intervention a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well, this is different. Thad's nobody to mess with. His temperament is not what I'd call an asset.”

Neither is yours if you keep getting upset with me for trying to help,
Jill thought.

Mitch stood his ground, apparently braced to defend the children, as Thad jumped out of his truck and jogged closer, fists clenched, posture rigid. Jill could tell how angry the man obviously was. That observation didn't do a thing to help calm her already taut nerves.

Before the newest arrival could reach the children, Harlan stepped between him and the others with his hands raised. “Simmer down, son. I've got everything under control.”

As Jill watched Thad's face and posture she could see his inner struggle. Finally, he nodded and stopped acting so aggressive. At least she thought he did. Given the volatility of the whole confrontation and all the parties involved, it was hard to tell. Personally, she wished she were locked inside the sheriff's car with the children while these stupid men settled their disagreements.

Harlan eyed them as a group. “Okay. All you people wait right here and behave yourselves. Nobody's going anywhere till we get this mess sorted out. Y'hear?”

Mitch nodded and so did Thad. Jill was rocking and comforting the littlest Pearson as she answered, “We wouldn't dream of leaving. Believe me, we're
very
glad to see you.”

In the background she thought she heard Thad mut
tering curses, although nothing he said could have equaled the vitriol in Natalie's recent tirade.

Given a choice, Jill decided she would much rather have to face down any or all of these angry men than spend one more minute with that hysterical, bad-tempered woman.

C
onsidering how long Mitch had figured he'd probably have to cool his heels in jail for taking matters into his own hands, the entire morning had ended surprisingly well.

Natalie had been given a sedative by the EMTs Harlan had summoned. Thad had settled down on his own once he'd realized that his sister-in-law was not going to be given custody of the children.

Brenda Connors had not only convinced the police that Mitch was one of the good guys, she'd managed to get a judge to hear the Pearson case in chambers.

“All right,” the elderly judge had said. “If you have no objections, Ms. Connors, I'm going to appoint Samantha Rochard to represent the Pearson children.”

Mitch had been holding his breath until the social worker had answered, “Fine with me, Your Honor.”

“And as for temporary custody, I see you recommend they be placed with Jill Kirkpatrick. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Brenda had smiled at Jill where she and Mitch stood aside tending the three orphans.

“Done,” the judge had said. “And I wish you all the best. I'll have my clerk draw up the official papers.”

Beside him, Mitch had heard Jill whisper, “Thank You, Lord,” while the social worker thanked the judge and shook his hand.

That settled, they were all on their way to Jill's. Mitch followed in his truck because Jill and the children had to ride with Ms. Connors to keep everything legal.

As soon as Tim climbed out of the car, he made a beeline for Mitch and grabbed his hand, tugging him along. “Are we gonna go home pretty soon, Uncle Mitch?”

He had to answer truthfully for the child's sake. “No, son. I'm sorry. But you'll like staying with Miss Jill. She has lots of animals here for you to see and play with.”

“I want my mama,” Paul whimpered, sidling up to his brother and scuffing his bare toes in the dust.

Tim pulled Mitch closer and cupped a hand around his mouth before he said, “He doesn't get it, but I do. Mama and Daddy are in Heaven. Right?”

“That's right.” Mitch was doing his best to keep from showing the depth of his emotions. He knew from his experience on the fire department, and with church youth, that kids who had been raised going to Sunday school simply accepted the loss of a loved one because they'd been taught about eternal life. He'd often wished he could have that kind of childish, unquestioning faith.

“I'm gonna miss my daddy,” Tim said.

“I know you are. But don't worry about that right now. First we need to get you and your brother and sister settled here. Then maybe we'll go into town and buy you all some new clothes.”

Tim brightened. “Yeah! Miss Jill says she might have
some stuff for Megan to wear but not so much for Paul and me. We're big boys.”

“I know you are. You're growing like a weed.”

Sobering, the seven-year-old nodded. “Uh-huh. That's what my dad always says.” He tightened his grip on Mitch's fingers and Paul grasped his brother's hand as they all headed for the house.

The little boy's firm grip made Mitch feel so parental he was astonished. If this was any indication of how it felt to be a father, he doubted he was up to it. That child trusted him to make everything right again, to fix what was broken in his young life and set him on the right path. What an awesome responsibility.

Carrying Megan, Jill ushered everyone inside, to the obvious delight of Mugsy. He wiggled and danced and tried to lick the boys' faces in greeting.

“Mugsy,” Jill commanded, making a hand motion at the same time. “Down. Behave yourself.”

Mitch had to chuckle at the poor, rapidly panting little dog's Herculean efforts at self-control. He could sure identify. He'd felt the same unbelievable urge to move, to act, when he'd seen Natalie physically rebuff Ms. Connors, not to mention when Jill had foolishly tried to intervene. And things had gone from bad to worse when Thad Pearson had arrived, acting as if he intended to take the house apart, brick by brick, to get to the kids.

Giving credit where credit was due, Mugsy was doing a better job of holding his feelings in check than Mitch—or Thad—had.

“Megan and I are going to go make everybody something to eat,” Jill said. “Who else wants to help?”

The only one who jumped up and dashed to her side
was Mugsy. “Okay. I have one volunteer.” She was grinning at the boys. “How about you two?”

Tim cast a questioning glance at Mitch, saw him nod and dutifully responded, taking Paul's hand and urging him to do the same.

As soon as he was alone with the social worker, Mitch asked, “How long will they be allowed to stay here?”

“That's hard to say. Since there was a crime involved, they may eventually be moved into protective custody while law enforcement sorts it all out. For the present, let's just take one day at a time,” Ms. Connors said.

“Okay.” Frustrated, Mitch folded his arms across his chest and shook his head slowly, contemplatively. “I guess that will have to do. I just wish…”

“I know.” She gave him a motherly pat on the shoulder. “You care. We all do. Here's my card. If you learn anything else that may help, please let me know ASAP.”

“Will do.” Slipping the business card into his pocket, he suggested, “What about asking the sheriff to keep a special eye on this place?”

“Done,” Ms. Connors said. “They'll be in contact with Jill and let her know what they're doing. She'll have to notify Harlan's office whenever she plans to leave the farm or may be temporarily out of touch. I've already suggested that she carry her cell phone with her at all times, just in case.”

The ominous mood of that warning gave Mitch the shivers. “You think the kids may be in danger?”

“Probably not. However, I prefer to cover all the angles rather than be caught unaware.” She eyed him quizzically. “Do you happen to live close?”

“No, but I can arrange to stop by on my days off. I'd planned to, for the kids' sake, of course.”

“Of course. Perfectly understandable.”

Although there was no inference of improper behavior in the woman's words or her tone, Mitch nevertheless felt his cheeks warming. He and Ms. Connors both knew that the children were not the only reason for his planned diligence. He wanted to watch over Jill, too. He had ever since he'd first met her.

 

In the kitchen, Jill put little Megan in a high chair so she could take off her own jacket. She gave the toddler crackers to munch to keep her occupied.

Then she donned an apron and taught the boys where she kept the bread, lunch meat and condiments while she prepared a pot of macaroni and cheese.

“You two will be a big help around here, I can tell,” she said, smiling. “We have a couple of important rules, though. One, no touching the stove.
Ever.
And two, please ask before you try to fix yourselves something to eat unless I'm watching. It's my job to see that you don't get hurt, okay?”

Two simultaneous nods satisfied her. All children forgot rules, of course, but this much cooperation was definitely a good start. They were good kids. She could tell. Megan might get into things once she was turned loose to explore but Jill had long ago childproofed her home so even a curious toddler was safe.

Plus, she had Mugsy and the ranch dogs to keep her wards entertained. Mugsy was wiggly but very gentle and the larger dogs, being bred to herd, would naturally try to keep the kids together like a flock of sheep whenever they were outside.

Her smile widened then became more reserved as Mitch joined them in the kitchen. If he was still upset with her she didn't want to make more waves.

“Ms. Connors had to leave. Mind if I stay for lunch?” he asked, acting suitably penitent.

Jill was satisfied that he'd gotten over his earlier annoyance, at least enough to make him good company. “Not at all. The boys have been helping me set the table. Would you mind lifting down some plates for them? That cupboard is too high.”

“I know.”

“Yes, I suppose you do. You've eaten here often enough.”

“Not
that
often.”

It tickled her to see the blush on his cheeks. “Okay. Maybe not that often. But you do know where everything is kept. Just watch that Paul doesn't slip another slice of bologna to the dog. I saw him do it once already.”

Her gaze darted briefly to the younger boy and she smiled benevolently at his contrite expression. “I understand. Mugsy can be an awful pest when he wants a treat. Just ask me the next time you want to feed him. All right?”

Paul mumbled, “Uh-huh,” while his brother nudged him in the shoulder and warned, “We gotta be real good or we'll get sent back to Aunt Natalie.”

Instead of being helpful, that brought tears to Paul's brown eyes. When Mitch knelt in front of the unhappy boy and began to quietly speak to him, Jill's heart clenched. She had to bite her lip to keep from weeping at the tender sight. Here was a big, strong man stooping to comfort a child who was not even his own.

Touched to the depths of her soul, she averted her face until she could regain better control of her emotions. This was what the perfect family of her dreams looked like. And, although she had long ago given up the notion that she could have this kind of life on a permanent basis, she gave thanks that she was being granted the blessing of partaking in something so close to it.

A chorus of gruff barking from the outside dogs jarred her back to reality. Her eyes met Mitch's as he straightened. “This is almost done cooking and I can't leave it,” she told him. “Will you check on the dogs, please? They don't usually bark like that.”

“Sure. Maybe they've spotted a skunk. That would liven up this party.”

“Don't even joke about something like that. Not unless you plan to stay and help me wash the smell off them if you're right.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Gotcha. I'll be right back.” Pausing, he looked at Tim and Paul. “Y'all be good while I'm gone.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim piped up as he grabbed his brother's hand. “We will.”

Jill was grinning foolishly but she didn't even try to subdue her amusement. Here they were, five individuals thrust together by disaster, yet they already sounded like a normal family. Of all the children she'd cared for, these were the first who seemed this much like her own.

That's because Mitch is here, too,
she told herself, slightly abashed by the obvious truth. Mitch was what completed the pseudofamily. Too bad his reasons for being there were because of the children for whom he felt such strong accountability.

She was positive that was why he'd always paid so much attention to her, too. He was the kind of guy who took on far more responsibility for the results of his harrowing profession than was warranted. He was there because he blamed himself for not only the deaths of Rob and Ellen Pearson, but also for not being able to save her darling Eric.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the boiling pasta in the pan, she had almost managed to bring her wandering thoughts under control when she heard Mitch shout.

She froze, listening, trying to hear what he was saying beyond the closed door and windows.

Tim left his brother and sister and clambered up on a chair next to the dining table. From there he could see into the yard. He pressed his little nose against the glass, then turned to Jill in wide-eyed wonder, his jaw gaping.

“What is it, honey? What do you see?”

“Uncle Mitch is wrestling. And some mean dogs are trying to bite him!”

“That can't be. I don't have any mean dogs.”

Jill took the hot saucepan to the sink and set it where it wouldn't accidentally be upset, glanced out the window, then immediately grabbed the largest iron skillet she owned.

“Stay right here and mind Mugsy,” she ordered. “You can keep watching from the window if you want but don't you dare set foot outside. Got that?”

Without waiting for an answer she jerked open the back door and braced herself for battle, the heavy pan brandished like a real weapon.

The moment her herding dogs heard her whistle and
saw she was nearby they abandoned their task of worrying their grounded quarry and galloped toward her, tails wagging.

Once they were out of the way she could see that Mitch lay prostrate in the dirt in front of the barn. There was no one else in sight.

She cast the pan aside and ran to him, falling to her knees at his side. There appeared to be traces of blood and dirt in his hair but he seemed otherwise unhurt.

He moaned and opened his eyes, then immediately tried to sit up.

Jill restrained him by placing her hands on his shoulders while he gingerly probed the back of his head with one hand.

Because he was looking around so rapidly and was obviously confused, she said, “Take it easy. Everything's fine. I called off the dogs. How did they get you down, anyway? Did you trip?”

“No!” It was guttural bark. “What are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the house.”

“Helping
you
.” She made a face at him. “And you're quite welcome.”

He was struggling to stand so Jill assisted.

“Where is he? Is he gone? Did you see which way he went?”

“Who?”

“The prowler,” Mitch said, swaying with the effort of maintaining his balance. “I didn't just fall down. I was grabbed and hit from behind. Somebody was hiding in the barn.”

“Who was it?”

“I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him. He was wearing a mask.”

So that's what Timmy had meant when he'd said Mitch was wrestling. The hair at the nape of her neck prickled. She tensed, instantly alert, and wished she hadn't dropped her makeshift weapon.

“I—I didn't see anybody running off when I came out, but maybe the boys did. They were watching from the kitchen.”