At Close Range. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t over yet. She’d feel better after she got some rest.

      She’d feel better after Kenny Hill was convicted.

      3

      Lights welcomed Brian as he pulled through the entrance of the gated community and up to his home on Thursday night. The landscapers had been there earlier in the day and his half acre of colorful desert plants, squeezed into an entire street of similarly coiffed properties, provided a much-needed sanctuary from another long and trying day. The three-thousand-square-foot house was too much for him—he’d known that for a couple of years. But on nights like tonight, Brian couldn’t bear the idea of giving it up. He’d had to admit a six-year-old with an extremely high fever to the hospital this afternoon. With any luck, he wouldn’t be called out again that night.

      The room-to-room stereo system was blaring the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” as he came through the garage door into the laundry room. A far cry from the peace and quiet he was used to. But it wasn’t wholly unwelcome.

      With a smile, Brian entered the adjoining kitchen. Joseph, busy with crayons and paper at the table, didn’t notice him. Neither did the beautiful brunette standing at the granite counter, reading a newspaper. A few unopened moving boxes lined one wall. Cynthia had told him she didn’t have much as she’d rented her apartment furnished. If those boxes were the extent of her goods, he’d say her comment had been an understatement. How did one raise a child with only four moving boxes’ worth of belongings? Where were the toys? The picture albums and booster seats?

      “Hey, doesn’t a guy get a hello after a hard day’s work?” He raised his voice to be heard over the childish chorus.

      Joseph’s quickly indrawn breath, the speed with which the boy jumped down from the adult-size seat he’d been kneeling on, almost completely distracted Brian from the sight of Cynthia quickly folding and trashing the paper she’d been poring over so intently she’d missed his entrance.

      “I made this for you, Brian,” Joseph said, holding out a wrinkled and slightly ripped piece of drawing paper.

      Squatting, Brian had to consciously restrain himself from pulling the boy into his embrace, a sign of affection that Joseph could not yet accept, as he studied the artwork. A wobbly circle dominated the page. Several colors rimmed what Brian assumed was a ball. Rays of sun came out of the edges of the ball and ran off the sides of the page. The center of the ball had been left blank.

      “This is great, son,” Brian said. “Is it mine to keep?”

      Wordlessly, eyes wide as though fearing the reaction to his offering, Joseph nodded.

      “Well, thank you. This is the nicest present I’ve had in a long time.” His ear-to-ear grin wasn’t the least bit forced. “I’m going to put this in my briefcase right now. I’ll take it to work with me tomorrow and hang it on the bulletin board by my desk so I can think of you every day.”

      Joseph stared at him, leaving Brian to wonder what the child was thinking. Eventually the boy nodded and moved slowly back to his chair where he returned his focus to his latest creation.

      Brian examined the picture he’d been given, certain there was a message for him if only he could decipher it. Looking to Cynthia for help, Brian was surprised to see her busy at the stove, her back to him.

      Without a greeting.

      And he remembered the paper. There’d been no mistaking the Sun News logo.

      She’d read the article. Knew that someone thought he might be responsible for the deaths of four infants. Not sure whether to discuss the article with her or ignore it, Brian thought again of how quickly she’d disposed of the paper when she’d known he was there.

      Sparing him?

      Not wanting to insult him with doubts?

      Maybe she needed some time to figure out what she wanted to do about what she’d read. Some time to determine how much she trusted the man she’d just moved in with.

      Maybe it was best to wait. To let her mention it when she was ready.

      He had nothing to hide. Something that was perhaps, right now, better shown than told.

      “Hi,” he said, placing an arm around her waist as he leaned in for a kiss. Her lips, warm and full as always, clung to his, her tongue darting into his mouth with the ease of familiarity—and pleasure.

      “Mmm. I can see I’m going to like getting back to the business of fully living,” he murmured, his body stirring at the unmistakable darkening of her eyes.

      The sound of Joseph’s crayon dropping in his box, little fingers rummaging for a different color, reminded Brian that he was not alone with his beautiful housemate. His lover.

      “More later,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her behind her ear. Cynthia tilted her head back and emitted a soft moan that would keep his blood boiling, he was sure, until bedtime.

      The woman was very, very good for him. And to him.

      As good as he wanted to be for her. And her troubled son.

      “Did you see this?” He held out the drawing.

      Tending to her rice, she nodded, her expression not quite steady. She was obviously no more immune to him than he was to her. “He has a fascination with circles,” she said.

      “It’s not a circle, Mommy, it’s the earth,” Joseph said from the table.

      So much for the boy tuning out their world.

      Note to self, Brian thought, chuckling as he went upstairs to change. Little pitchers have big ears. Save coming on to the mama until the child is in bed.

      

      Much later that night, Brian stared at the ceiling. He had a woman in his arms, her head on his chest. In his bedroom. At home. A woman whose scant collection of clothes hung in the closet next to his. Whose toothbrush was in the ensuite bathroom.

      He didn’t regret having her there. He’d made the right decision. Moments like these, moments of discomfort, when he didn’t feel like himself, were to be expected. Living with a woman again was a huge change. There were bound to be adjustments.

      “The hospital didn’t phone.” Cynthia’s voice broke into his thoughts.

      “I know,” he said, holding her closer. “Which should be good news.”

      Her palm rested, unmoving, on his chest. “Did you hear from the parents of the little leukemia girl today?”

      “No. I’m planning to do a follow-up call tomorrow. Sometimes when people hear bad news like this, especially about a small child, they go into denial. Their defense mechanisms don’t allow them to believe it and they fail to get the proper treatment. In Felicia’s case, immediate treatment is critical.”

      As she did many times, she asked about his caseload that day. And the next. She asked about a couple of kids, cases she knew from doing his accounts, who’d been in for tests, about a ten-year-old who’d been burned, a twelve-year-old future professional baseball player who’d broken his collarbone.

      And, СКАЧАТЬ