Home At Last. Deborah Raney

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СКАЧАТЬ knew that voice. It was Shayla! Her gaze didn’t leave the child in Link’s arms.

      He shifted the little girl to face outward so Shayla could see she was in one piece—despite the blood-curdling screams pouring from the tiny creature. Tucking the girl under one arm like a football—or more like one of those crazy bouncy balls his nephews had—he half skated across the street.

      He helped her to her feet with his free hand and started to transfer the little girl to her arms when Shayla began pounding her fists on his chest.

      “You could have killed her! You could have killed her!”

      He stumbled backward, trying to fend off the mama bear’s blows while baby bear continued to thrash in his arms. “Hey, stop! She’s okay. She’s going to be okay!”

      Seeming oblivious to the fact that he held the little girl, Shayla continued screaming at him, then, without warning, she wilted into a puddle at his feet.

      He didn’t think she’d recognized him yet. She was, understandably, a little out of her mind. It seemed a petty thought considering what had just happened, but he hadn’t known she had a kid. Did that change things? Not that it mattered now. Nearly running over a woman’s daughter probably wasn’t his best pick-up line.

      Shayla wept gulping sobs that might have scared him a little more if he hadn’t been raised with three drama queens for sisters. Not that Shayla didn’t have cause to be upset, but her little girl was obviously fine.

      He set the child down on the sidewalk next to her, keeping tight hold on the fur collar of the kid’s coat so she didn’t escape again. “Hey?” He knelt beside Shayla. “You okay?”

      Without looking up, she waved him away, then pulled the little girl onto her lap.

      “It’s cold out here,” Link said. She was in shirtsleeves except for the bib apron that bore the Coffee’s On logo. “And that sidewalk is a sheet of ice. Why don’t we get you both inside?” He offered his hand.

      But she batted it away. “I can get myself inside. I think you’ve helped enough for one day.” She sniffed and looked up at him, topaz-colored eyes blazing. Slowly, recognition dawned in them. “It . . . it’s you.” Her creamy brown complexion went rosy.

      “Yes. It’s Link.” He offered his hand again.

      But she ignored it. “Go on about your business. We’re fine.” She pushed the little girl’s corkscrew curls off her forehead and inspected her for injury. The child’s hair and skin were a paler shade of brown than Shayla’s—almost a muddy blonde—and her eyes were a striking blue-gray. Even so, she was the spitting image of Shayla. The little girl whimpered, but she didn’t appear to be bleeding or otherwise harmed. A miracle.

      Watching them together, the sequence of events replayed in his mind, and he shuddered, feeling a little weak in the knees himself. “That was a close one.”

      Shayla pierced him with a look. “Yeah, well . . . You might want to think about slowing down next time. You could have killed her.”

      “So you said.” About fifteen times. He narrowed his eyes. “And you might want to think about watching your kid closer next time.” He turned toward the street, half wishing he’d held his tongue. But seriously? She was going to blame him? He’d quite possibly saved the kid’s life. She should be thanking him.

      “Hey!”

      He turned back at the strident chord in her voice, preparing to get chewed out again.

      But she only said, “You’re coming for the order for the B&B, right? The Chicory Inn?”

      He eyed her. “Yes.” Wanna make something of it?

      “Your order’s ready.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “Inside.”

      “Oh.” He curbed the urge to roll his eyes. “Thanks. My mom would’ve killed me if I forgot.” He winced inwardly. Nice choice of words, Whitman. Way to remind her you nearly ran over her daughter and that you’re running errands for your mommy.

      Shayla struggled to her feet, testing the sidewalk beneath her before lifting the girl into her arms. “Come on in. I’ll ring you up.”

      Did he hear a hint of truce in her tone? “You’re sure I’m allowed in your store? After all, I did almost kill your daughter.” He couldn’t help it. The sarcasm came second nature.

      She opened her mouth to say something, but instead, hitched her daughter higher on one hip and opened the door to the bakery.

      Shaking his head, Link followed her inside.

      The heady scents of coffee, warm cinnamon rolls, and maple icing wafted over them, and Link couldn’t keep from inhaling deeply. The mingling of aromas had a calming effect on him.

      Shayla set the little girl down at a child’s table near the cash register. The stack of coloring books and buckets of crayons and markers on the table looked like a scene from one of his sisters’ homes, and the little girl was instantly distracted.

      Flecks of ice sparkled in Shayla’s wild Afro. She looked gorgeous as ever, even if her complexion now seemed more gray than the creamy mahogany shade he remembered. Behind the counter, she consulted an order pad. “You had two dozen Parker House and a loaf of rye, right?”

      “Yes. I guess. Whatever Mom ordered.” He didn’t have a clue and couldn’t remember right now if his life depended on it. No doubt, his mother—He took in a sharp breath. Mom! He’d left her on the phone thinking he’d been in an accident. She’d be frantic.

      He reached into his pocket then remembered his cell was still in the truck. At least he hoped it was. “Hang on a sec, would you? My phone . . . Be right back.”

      She barely nodded and went on wrapping the bread.

      He risked ruffling the little girl’s hair as he went by. She flinched at his touch, but at least she didn’t start screaming. Shoot, his ears were still ringing.

      He jogged out to the pickup and did a quick walk around, inspecting it much the way Shayla had inspected her daughter. The truck was caked with dirty slush and mud, and the back right tire was scuffed where it had met the curb, but otherwise, no worse for the wear. He considered reparking since the truck had parallel parked itself across two angled parking spaces, but there were plenty of open spots on the street, and he didn’t want Shayla to think he was leaving.

      After calling his mother and giving her a carefully edited version of the morning’s events, he tucked his cell in his pocket and trotted back into the shop.

      A white bag with the bakery’s logo stamped on the side sat waiting on the counter, a receipt stapled to the side.

      He looked at it. It seemed a little high, but he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and extracted a twenty-dollar bill.

      She made change and handed it to him without a word, seeming a little dazed. Well, he was too. He bent to peer into her eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

      “I’m fine.” She wiped her hands on her apron and came around the counter, peeking at the table where her little girl was bent over a coloring book.

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