Remember My Touch. Gayle Wilson

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      “Mandy, this is Mr. Dawson,” Jenny said softly. “He’s your daddy’s friend.”

      The little girl’s hesitation was only a fraction of a second too long to be put down to shyness. “’Lo,” she managed, her normally confident voice almost a whisper.

      Matt Dawson’s gaze was on the child and no longer on Jenny. She should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. She had no doubt, despite Mandy’s gallant effort at maintaining the politeness she had been taught, that he knew exactly what the child was thinking. He didn’t respond verbally to her greeting. The tightening at the corner of his mouth was minute, and he then simply nodded.

      Mandy shrank a little closer to Jenny’s jeans-covered leg at his almost-forbidding silence. “Go on inside,” Jenny urged her softly. “Mind your daddy. It is too cool out here for bare feet.”

      Apparently grateful for permission to leave, Mandy turned and ran toward the small house. The three adults watched as, carefully holding up her nightgown, she climbed the low steps and disappeared through the screen door.

      “That’s a pretty little girl,” Matt said into the uncomfortable silence she left behind.

      Jenny turned to smile at him, but he was looking at Chase.

      “She took after her mother,” Chase said.

      “Then you should thank God for His favor,” Matt responded, his features absolutely expressionless.

      Chase’s laughter in response to the insult reminded Jenny of Mac’s, and that memory, too, was painful, but at least Matt’s teasing comment had broken the tension Mandy’s unease had caused.

      “DEA?” Jenny asked again. Her voice was pleasantly inquiring as if she were only picking up the thread of the conversation they had been having when Mandy interrupted them. Both men turned to look at her, but neither answered. “That is what you’re doing down here, isn’t it?” she prompted.