A Season For Family. Mae Nunn

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Chapter Five

      Just after 11:00 p.m. Heath figured out that a homeless shelter never completely goes to sleep for the night. Sure, the bunks were heavy with snoring figures and the lights were out in dorms and hallways. But the muted sounds of conversation, television, flushing, coughing and even someone softly singing continued to flow.

      He wandered the halls, poking around in the few spaces that remained unlocked or unguarded. Heath was restless to search in earnest for clues leading to drug activity. Working on his own in a place that was perpetually active had him rethinking how long he might have to invest in this case.

      At the front and back entrances, night shift residents sipped coffee and read, looking up each time he happened past.

      “You need something?” The young man who’d introduced himself as Nick paused over what appeared to be a textbook. He was seated at a folding table beside two doorways; one was clearly marked with an EXIT sign and the other, Heath assumed, led to the upstairs apartment.

      “No, just antsy, I guess.”

      “First night at this shelter?”

      “First night in any shelter,” Heath admitted. “I’m here for community service. I guess I’ll get used to it in a day or two.”

      Nick tucked a folded sheet of paper between the pages and closed his book. He motioned for Heath to take the other chair.

      “I’ve been in and out of places like this for nearly two years,” Nick shared. “I’m still not used to it. So don’t be surprised if it never feels like home.”

      The kid was well-spoken. Heath pointed toward the thick volume. “You a student?”

      “Only for a little longer.” Nick grinned and nodded. “I was almost finished with technical school when I lost my job and apartment. I had to drop out, figured that was the end of my education. But since Table of Hope took me in I’ve been able to catch up. In a couple more months I’ll graduate, be qualified for work and get back on my feet again. I just need to put some money in the bank.”

      “Your folks must be proud of you for finding a way to get back on track.” Heath returned the young man’s smile.

      Shaggy hair fell across Nick’s brow when he shook his head. “They don’t even know where I am. I messed up too often to go home again.”

      Heath could understand not wanting to feed at the family trough, but given the choice between shelter and pride he’d take the former. “So, let me get this straight. You chose being homeless over being humble?”

      Nick took a sip from a smiley face mug as though he needed a moment to consider his response. “You ever been on the street?” he finally asked.

      “Not in the way you mean,” Heath admitted.

      “It’s more humbling than you can imagine. You never get past the shame of asking a stranger for a handout. You’ve seen those WILL WORK FOR FOOD signs, right?”

      Heath nodded.

      “Well, holding that sign is less embarrassing than hearing yourself say the words over and over again. I know some people see us as bums who just won’t get a job, and for a handful that may be true. But my experience at shelters tells me otherwise. If it wasn’t for Miss Livvy’s Christian heart, everybody here tonight might be sleeping in a doorway, and it wouldn’t be because they’re too lazy or proud to work.

      “Trust me, if all I had to do was eat some crow to get my mama to invite me back to her table again, I wouldn’t hesitate. But my parents never read about the prodigal son. I’m grateful that Miss Livvy believes in helping folks get another chance, no matter what they’ve done.”

      Warmth stirred beneath Heath’s breastbone. Was there any possibility the woman he was investigating was truly as beautiful inside as she was on the outside?

      Did that kind of person even exist in the world today?

      Olivia stood before her bathroom sink, tipped her face toward the ceiling and made a gurgling sound through a mouthful of salty water. Too many encounters with the day’s blustery wind had left her with a raw throat and throbbing ears. Thank goodness for home remedies. She couldn’t afford medical insurance, so anything less critical than a severed limb had to be handled out of her first aid kit.

      Two aspirin and a cup of hot tea should do the trick.

      She rinsed her mouth, finger-combed short hair that stuck up every which way and dragged a favorite old Baylor sweatshirt over her head for added warmth. She padded into her small kitchen and pried open the tea bag tin.

      Empty.

      “Oh, that’s right,” she muttered. “I used the last one this morning.” Crawling back under the blankets would be the simple thing to do, but when had she ever taken the easy road? She scooped up her wad of keys and flipped on the stairwell light. At the bottom she poked her head out, hoping to get Nick’s attention and ask for a favor. He was nowhere in sight.

      “It figures,” Olivia griped as she trudged toward the big room. She’d make quick work of pocketing some tea bags from the drink station and get back upstairs before she was seen.

      She found the room silent and empty, lit only by a plug-in night-light near the coffee urn.

      “Yes!” Olivia cheered quietly, then hurried across the floor and reached for the tea canister. The lid flipped open easily. She grasped a handful of the small bags, raised them to her nose and closed her eyes to appreciate the fragrance.

      “Excuse me,” a male voice rumbled in her ear.

      Olivia gasped! Her eyelids flew wide in the dark room.

      The terse baritone and the fist gripping her wrist sent a shock wave shivering through her body. She gawked for a split second at the shadowy place where a strong hand held her captive. Her gaze raced upward to the man’s face. Sober eyes loomed close to hers.

      “I believe under these circumstances I’m supposed to remind you about honesty and accountability, showing respect for the supplies at Table of Hope.”

      “And I believe under these circumstances I oughta have you skinned alive, Heath Stone. You scared the daylights out of me.” She attempted and failed a defense training move to break his hold on her arm. “Let me go!” she hissed.

      He squeezed harder and gave her a slight shake.

      “Pay attention for a minute,” his voice was insistent.

      She stopped struggling, propped her free hand on her hip. “Okay, you have exactly sixty seconds before I call Detective Biddle to have you removed from my place.”

      “Fair enough, but listen. That little twist thing you just did with your arm might work with someone who’s not expecting you to fight back. But you need to learn more aggressive tactics if you intend to hold your own against an attacker who won’t give up easily.”

      He talked her though a judo maneuver that would put a man flat on his back and knock the wind out of him, giving her precious seconds to run for help. “Now, that’s what you need to do the next time a guy grabs you by the wrist.”

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