Keeping Katie (A Mother's Heart Book 1) Page 2

  He returned the coffee cup to its saucer, and his smile broadened. “Alan Parks, Wyattville sheriff, at your service.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Nodding, she started to turn away.

  “Hear you rented a room from Rita Ember.”

  Maureen stopped and turned, trying out a carefully constructed smile, though her stomach churned. “I guess news really does travel fast in a small town.”

  “Yup.”

  “Mrs. Ember is a very nice lady. It was kind of her to rent one of her rooms to my daughter and me.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes.” Maureen held her smile with an effort. “Katie. She’s three.”

  He picked up his cup again and took another sip. “Depends on what?”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff. What?” she said, feigning ignorance.

  “You said how long you stay depends. Depends on what?”

  “Oh.” Maureen shrugged again and lowered her eyes to the coffeepot in her hands. “Well, you know, on how things work out.”

  When she raised her gaze back to his, she saw the danger again. At that moment, she would have sworn he knew everything about her. She mentally shook herself. She was being foolish. This was just a small-town sheriff checking out a stranger.

  She launched into the script she’d prepared. “I lost my husband recently …” The truth, she told herself. Stick to the truth as much as possible. “I just needed to get away.” She shrugged again, feeling more confident. “I was headed for Seattle, but your town charmed me.” She smiled shyly, realizing she could pull this off. After all, everything she’d said so far was true.

  Alan heard her answers but paid little attention to the words. It was her eyes he watched. A person could say anything, but their eyes, well, they seldom lied.

  Besides, this woman had the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen. They were soft blue, the color of spring wildflowers. They seemed out of place with the rest of her—the dark, lifeless hair, the … no, just the hair was wrong. Her skin was pale, flawlessly pale, like fine porcelain, while her thinness added an air of delicacy. Just the hair was wrong, and something else he couldn’t quite get a handle on. Something …

  “Sorry about your husband,” he said, watching her more closely, trying to make all the pieces fit.

  He saw her pain briefly before she looked away. She acknowledged his sympathy with a nod but said nothing. An awkward moment passed, and Alan knew she’d spoken the truth, at least about this.

  “So,” he said, breaking the silence, “it sounds like you’re looking for a place to settle down.”

  She shifted uneasily. “I can’t say, Sheriff. Maybe.”

  “Well …” Alan leaned back on his stool and pushed his empty coffee cup away. “Wyattville’s nothing like Chicago, but it’s a nice town. Quiet. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do.” She met his gaze. “That’s one of the things I like about it.”

  “Good.” Alan searched for something else to say, something to keep her talking.

  “Well, it was nice talking with you, Sheriff,” she said, “but I need to get back to work.”

  “Sure. Go ahead. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to talk again.” He nodded and let her go.

  As she walked away, it hit him. The way she moved. That was the other piece that didn’t fit, the point nipping at the edge of his mind since he’d first seen her. Her movements were graceful, almost elegant, like a dancer’s. Every gesture, every step indicated this woman knew how to handle herself. There was nothing lost or downtrodden about her. Instead, she possessed an understated confidence. Drifters didn’t move like that.

  Things were not what they seemed with Maureen Adams. And, instead of all the pieces falling into place the way they should, they seemed more scattered than ever. It looked as if he needed to get to know her a little better. She was running from something, and he wanted to know what. After all, the woman was a puzzle, and he didn’t like puzzles—at least not in his town.

  Jacob Anderson’s office was cold. Like the frigid Chicago wind. Like the man. Cooper hated the office and figured he probably felt the same way about the man. If he had to guess, he’d say Anderson wasn’t too crazy about him, either. But, the money was good, and he, Sam Cooper, was the best at what he did. So they tolerated each other.

  Cooper stepped into Anderson’s inner sanctum and closed the door behind him.

  Anderson stood, staring out the windows at a panoramic view of downtown Chicago. “Good of you to come on such short notice,” he said without turning around.

  Cooper moved further into the plush office. He knew Anderson didn’t expect a response, so he offered none.

  “I want you to find someone for me,” Anderson continued a moment later.

  “Of course.” Cooper lowered himself into a chair of chrome and leather. “Who is it this time?”

  Anderson turned slowly away from the windows and fixed Cooper with an icy stare.

  Suppressing the urge to stand back up, Cooper wondered—not for the first time—how Anderson had ever become such a successful trial lawyer. How could a jury ever look into those chilly gray eyes and not shudder?

  “Take a look at the contents of that folder,” Anderson said, motioning toward his desk. “Tell me what you see.”

  Cooper leaned forward and picked up the manila folder. Flipping it open, he found two sets of large glossy photographs and several neatly typed pages of what he assumed was background information. First he studied the pictures. He liked to make his own assumptions before reading what someone else had to say about a situation.

  “The woman’s a looker.” He took his time, studying the face, memorizing details. “Great eyes. Great hair. Not many woman have hair that color.” He studied her a moment longer, going through picture after picture, before adding, “Looks natural.”

  “It is.”

  Cooper raised his eyes at Anderson’s unexpected comment, but the other man had returned to the windows. “Should be easy to spot.”

  “She’s probably dyed it. Cut it, too.”

  Cooper hesitated, wondering if he’d actually heard a tremor in Jacob Anderson’s voice. Could this woman mean something to him? Shaking his head, Cooper decided he was imagining things. Anderson didn’t care about anything or anyone, except maybe the law. Or power.

  Cooper pulled out the second set of photos. “Cute kid. Not related to the woman. Looks Latin.” He stole a glance at Anderson again, watching for the slightest reaction. But the other man offered up nothing more than his stiff back.

  Then Cooper pulled out the written report, not bothering to read aloud the typed material. He had no doubt that Anderson already knew every word in it.

  “I want them found,” Anderson said, just as Sam finished reading the report. “Before the authorities find them.”

  “They’ve been missing for three months.” Cooper shook his head. “That’s a pretty cold trail.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “If it was easy, I wouldn’t need you.”

  Cooper let out a short laugh. “Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t.”

  Anderson turned back around, pulled a plain white envelope from his pocket, and dropped it on the desk. “There’s fifty thousand. That should take care of your immediate expenses. There will be fifty more when you find them.”

  Standing, Cooper picked up the envelope and shoved it in his jacket pocket without looking at it. “I’ll be in touch.” He turned to leave but only got halfway across the room.

  “I expect to hear from you once a week.”

  Cooper stopped and turned, wondering what was really going on here. He and Anderson might not be the best of buddies, but they had an understanding. He never questioned who or why Anderson wanted someone, and in return, Anderson never told Cooper how to do his job.

  “When you find them,” Anderson said, “don’t make contact. Just let me know where they are. Immediately.”

  Anderson had jus
t stepped over the line. Cooper crossed his arms and faced the other man. “So, who’s this woman, anyway?”

  He saw the quick flare of heat in Anderson’s eyes before they turned frigid again. Then he smiled, that beatific smile that jurors always fell for, but Cooper knew to be false, and said, “She’s my daughter.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It felt good to have something fit again, even if it was only a pair of jeans. She’d lost so much weight in the last year that everything she owned hung on her. Stepping in front of the mirror, Maureen turned sideways to get a better look at herself. Well, she thought with a wry smile, I always wanted to lose a few pounds. I guess I finally succeeded.

  Then she caught sight of her hair. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers through the unfamiliar crop of dark waves. David had loved her hair. Pale blond and falling in soft curls to her shoulders, it had been her one claim to beauty. It had made her memorable … and too easy to spot. So the night she fled from Miami, she’d cut it short and colored it dark brown. And now she was compelled to watch closely for the first signs of blond roots.

  With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror. What did it matter? It was only hair. The important thing was that Katie was with her and they were safe.

  The question of safety brought her thoughts back to Alan Parks—a subject that had plagued her from the moment he’d walked into the restaurant yesterday morning. At the time, she’d felt certain he suspected something. He seemed more than casually interested in her. She kept telling herself she was imagining things. It was her “city girl” reaction to the small-town attitude—everyone knowing everybody else’s business. Still, every instinct she possessed screamed a warning, and she couldn’t get him off her mind.

  “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  Katie’s words snapped Maureen back to the present. Scooping the child into her arms, she nuzzled the soft baby cheek. “You are?”

  Katie giggled and nodded her head. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you think I should let you eat in that pretty new outfit?”

  Katie nodded again.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Maureen teased. “It’s too pretty.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Katie grabbed her mother’s chin and forced her head to move up and down.

  Laughing, Maureen tumbled the child on the bed, finding every ticklish spot on her three-year-old body. “No, no, no,” she insisted as Katie surrendered to a fit of high giggly shrieks, with an occasional “yes” thrown in for good measure.

  Finally, Maureen collapsed, feigning exhaustion. “Okay, you win. You can wear the outfit.”

  Sporting a triumphant smile, Katie climbed to her knees and planted her chubby little fists on her hips. “Good,” she said with a decisive nod of her head. “I win!”

  Maureen smiled at her daughter and drew her into her arms. Katie’s need for clothes had spurred their buying trip today. They’d found a consignment shop, where she’d bought Katie several nearly-new outfits, plus the pair of jeans for herself. She felt a little guilty about spending the money, but they both needed clothes.

  “Let’s go down and eat,” she said, pulling herself and Katie off the bed.

  All the way down the stairs, she teased her daughter with tickling fingers and a bouncy rhythm. Laughing, she pushed through the kitchen door and came to an abrupt halt. Alan Parks leaned casually against the counter, one booted foot draped over the other, arms crossed, listening intently to Mrs. Matson, Rita’s only other boarder.

  He looked different without his uniform. Less civilized. More dangerous. Something stirred inside her, bringing an unwelcome warmth to the room. She tried to shake the feeling, telling herself there was nothing unusual in what he wore—just a pair of jeans and a soft chambray shirt open at the throat. Nothing unusual, except maybe the way the jeans fit, as if he’d been born in them, or the way the soft beige of his shirt emphasized the coppery darkness of his skin. He looked barely tame. Suddenly, she ached in places she had thought long dead.

  Her gaze drifted to his face, and she saw the amusement in his eyes, the knowledge of his effect on women. The arrogance of it annoyed her, clearing her stunned senses. Why were good-looking men always so damn cocky?

  “There you two are,” Rita said.

  Maureen pulled her gaze away from Alan, and the sights and smells of the kitchen rushed in on her all at once. Rita stood over a stove laden with food. Mrs. Matson sat cutting raw vegetables at the kitchen table, and the room smelled of roasting turkey and rich, spicy apples.

  “Are we late?” Careful to avoid looking Alan’s way again, Maureen carried Katie across the room and set her on one of the counter stools.

  “No, dear. You’re just in time.” Rita finished stirring something on the stove and, after wiping her hands on her apron, reached for Katie. “Come here, sweetie. Don’t you look nice.”

  “It smells wonderful in here,” Maureen said, handing Katie to the older woman. “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion.” Rita fussed with the new top Katie wore, winning a smile from the little girl. “I like making a big dinner on Sunday, and I’ve always felt turkey was too good to save for Thanksgiving.” Motioning toward Alan, she added, “Maureen, this is my nephew Alan. He eats with us on Sunday.”

  “We met at Lynn’s yesterday.” Alan’s smile never faltered as his eyes scanned her from head to toe, once again stirring that unfamiliar warmth. “Nice to see you again, Maureen.”

  Annoyed as much with her own reaction as with him, she merely nodded.

  Fortunately, Rita wasn’t finished with the introductions. “And this,” she said to Alan, “is Katie.”

  “Hello, Katie.” Alan reached out to touch Katie’s hand, but she shied away, burying her head in Rita’s chest.

  “Alan won’t bite, honey,” Rita soothed. “You know, he used to be a little boy just your size, and I’d take care of him. Just like I take care of you.”

  Katie seemed to consider this while studying him from the safety of familiar arms. Then she squirmed sideways, reaching for her mother.

  Maureen took Katie from Rita, but she could tell Katie wasn’t really frightened—she was just toying with the adults. “It’s okay,” she said. “Mr. Parks is the sheriff here.”

  “What’s that?” Katie asked.

  “It’s like a policeman,” Maureen answered. Then, when Katie didn’t respond, she added, “He doesn’t look like a policeman because he’s not wearing his uniform.”

  “Oh.” Katie didn’t look convinced.

  Laughing, Rita scowled playfully at Alan. “Maybe if you got yourself a haircut, the child might not be afraid of you.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Aunt Rita.” Alan planted a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “She’ll come around.” Then, with a wink and a grin at Maureen, he added, “They all do.”

  His grin caught her, rendering Maureen breathless for a moment. Why hadn’t she noticed yesterday how captivating this man was? How could she have missed the burnished copper in his dark brown hair? Or the color of his eyes? Not dark, but not light, either. They looked as if they’d been painted with the same brush that touched his hair.

  Feeling foolish, she could do nothing but smile in return. She thought herself immune to handsome men—especially those who so obviously knew it. But she couldn’t lie to herself. Alan Parks made her extremely uncomfortable. Her body fairly hummed in anticipation of the things his eyes suggested.

  Then Katie laughed, jarring Maureen, and she was abruptly reminded of who she was, and who he was: a man she couldn’t risk having thoughts about. It was time to put a little distance between herself and Alan Parks.

  “We’ll be right back, Rita,” she said, turning and heading for the kitchen door. “Katie and I need to wash our hands.”

  Alan smiled as Maureen fled the room. He liked the way she looked tonight—fresh, young, and undoubtedly female. She’d been laughing when she entered the kitchen, a light, carefree laugh filled with warmth, while the child in her arms giggled and s
quirmed. He could see how the pair of them would add a homey texture to this big old house.

  Then she had spotted him, and he’d recognized her reaction. It was all woman. That, too, warmed him. The only surprise had been how much it pleased him.

  Tucking that insight aside for later, he let his thoughts drift to the other differences in her. For instance, the jeans she wore fit snugly, revealing a very feminine posterior—something she’d hidden yesterday beneath oversize denim. Her face, uncomplicated by makeup, nearly glowed, and her startling blue eyes reflected her every thought. In the few minutes she’d been in the room, he’d seen joy, hunger, and annoyance in those eyes. No, she was nothing like the wary woman he’d met at Lynn’s yesterday. Nothing at all.

  “What’re you standing there grinning about?” It was Mrs. Matson who interrupted his thoughts. “Ain’t like you never saw a pretty girl before.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less pleasant to see another one,” Alan said, directing his most charming smile in Millie Matson’s direction. “However,” he added with a wink, “I like my women more mature.”

  “Get on with you.” Color rose in Millie’s cheeks as she brushed his comment aside. “You’re such a flatterer, Alan Parks. Always have been.”

  Alan laughed and reached down to help the older woman from her chair. “Whatever works, Millie. Whatever works.”

  “If you two are done flirting,” Rita said good-naturedly, “I could use some help.”

  With a final smile at Millie, Alan went to Rita’s aid, lifting the huge turkey from the oven. Meanwhile, Millie began carrying platters of food into the dining room.

  A few minutes later, when Maureen and Katie returned to the kitchen, Alan stood at the counter, carving the turkey. She pointedly ignored him and took Katie into the dining room. Once again he smiled. Yes sir, he had her attention now. And finding out about her was going to be a lot more interesting than he’d expected.