“I’m sorry.”
“Not half as sorry as Tucker’s going to be when I catch up to him.” Reggie’s good eye glittered. “You know what they say,” he said, voice soft and dangerous, “about an eye for an eye.”
Mick had never realized how powerful his need for vengeance was until he saw his anger reflected in Reggie’s good eye. Mick had not lost his vision, but Tucker had taken a part of him just the same. Forgiveness was not, nor would ever be an option, in spite of what his sister’s well-meaning church pastor had told him.
Sorry, God. This one isn’t worth forgiving.
Mick tried to pull his emotions in check. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s Nadine?”
Reggie sighed. “She left me.”
“Again?”
“It’s going on six months this time,” he said, wiping his mouth. “She’s playing hardball, threatened a divorce and everything, but I’m making progress. After this adventure, I’m going to book us a cruise.”
Mick chuckled. “Might want to check with Nadine before you put your money down.”
“She’ll come around. She always does. I just have to apply some grease to the skids.”
“Seems as though you greased the skids last time she left you. You bought her diamonds, didn’t you?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Turns out they really aren’t a girl’s best friend, because she insisted I return them before she let me back in the house. The cruise will be better. Quality time and all that.”
Mick figured he certainly had no better ideas where women were concerned, so he stayed quiet.
Reggie extracted a bunch of papers from a portfolio and slid them onto a banged-up coffee table with one corner missing. “The old paperwork. Trying to find some leads about where Tucker might crash, if he’s got any friends or such-like.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Yeah, I’m chasing that down. In the meantime, there’s something here you should see, something I dug up about the sister.”
“LeeAnn?”
“Yeah. A little tidbit that might explain why Tucker’s come to call.”
Mick felt a cold hand grasp at his heart as he took the papers from Reggie. “Am I going to like this?”
Reggie didn’t smile this time. “Read it, Mick.”
* * *
Keeley spent the day playing with June, relishing every word the three-year-old said and the ones Keeley imagined she was thinking. June didn’t say more than a few words due to speech delays, but each one was precious, like the biblical apples of gold. The best thing for June’s speech development turned out to be Cornelius, Aunt Viv’s parrot. The plucky African gray eyed June with curiosity and called her “Junie Jo” in an exact imitation of Aunt Viv. Cornelius would sometimes infuriate June by commanding her to sit in the time-out chair. Today he was singing “Yankee Doodle” to the delight of the toddlers.
Late in the afternoon when the other three children had been picked up by their parents, Aunt Viv finally plopped down onto the sofa, her slim hips jostling the cushions and setting June into gales of laughter.
“She said coffee today,” Aunt Viv said with a laugh. “I let her pour some creamer into my cup and it went everywhere, so now she says, ‘coffee, oops!’” Viv stroked one of June’s soft blond pigtails as the child examined the pages of the book Keeley had brought.
“How did the OT go?”
June had worked with Mrs. B., her occupational therapist, since before she was old enough to walk.
“She’s trying hard to pedal that tricycle. Almost there.” Viv looked Keeley over. “I’ll say it again. If you want to live here, I’ve got a closet-size extra room with your name on it. Not the Ritz, but clean, more or less.”
Keeley shot her a look. “Why are you bringing it up?”
“You’ve got that worried ‘my paycheck might not be enough to get us to the end of the month’ look on your face.”
Keeley turned the page, and June leaned her head against Keeley’s side. There was nothing more she’d like than to spend every moment with June. When LeeAnn gave birth, Keeley had been there through it all: the shock of finding out the baby had Down syndrome, the denial, anger and grief that followed. Keeley had paced miles around that small hospital room, each step bringing her deeper and deeper in love with her precious niece, those wondrous eyes with the beautiful flecks, the most perfect tiny mouth. Little did she know then that her role would change from auntie to mother when June was only a year and a half.
Tucker hadn’t wanted the baby, had urged LeeAnn to get rid of it and then promptly gotten himself into trouble with the law for stealing a car. A devastated LeeAnn had moved away to live with their mother in Colorado, never letting Tucker know she’d had their baby.
“Don’t tell him,” she’d begged. “Ever. He doesn’t want her, and she shouldn’t know her father is a criminal. Promise.”
Promise. The entreaty still rang in her ears. Even when LeeAnn had moved back to Oregon and she and Tucker had patched things up, LeeAnn had not told him the truth, leading him to believe June was Keeley’s. She’d waited and waited, to be sure Tucker was on the straight and narrow. She’d died still waiting. And now? Did Tucker have an idea? Had he figured out the truth about June?
I want what’s mine...
She pulled June closer. The little girl discarded the book and climbed onto Keeley’s lap, laying her plump cheek on Keeley’s chest.
“I have to make a life for us, Aunt Viv,” she said, rubbing circles on June’s back. “I need to get my business established, and I can’t take June with me on the shoots. By summer, if I take every job I can get my hands on, I’ll be able to hire someone reliable to watch her while I’m working until she’s ready to start the prekindergarten program.”
Just the thought of it made little flutters roil through her stomach. Would the public school understand a special-needs child? Could they see past the label to the amazing, exquisite person underneath? Would she be teased and tormented by the other children?
“Just remember, it’s an option if things get too hairy.” Aunt Viv reached out her arms. “Give that little sweetie pie to me. She’s sound asleep. I’ll put her down for a nap.”
Keeley smiled. She knew that meant Viv would lie down next to her and take a snooze, as well. Aunt Viv earned every moment of her rest time. The energetic fifty-five-year-old tended to four rambunctious preschoolers in her at home day care setting and toted June to her various appointments when Keeley was working. Since she’d retired from being an emergency room nurse when she’d moved to Colorado the year before, June had become her full-time work.
“I’ll put some chicken in the oven for dinner,” Keeley said.
“I won’t be noble. You can cook for me anytime.” She disappeared down the hallway, her long black braid trailing behind her.
After the chicken was seasoned with olive oil, a squeeze of lemon and a generous handful of crushed garlic, it went into the oven to bake. Keeley began gathering up the toys June and her friends had scattered about the playroom and swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Her phone indicated an email.
It was a request from a magazine she’d queried in the past. Short notice, but can you photograph the Quaker parrots? Our guy dropped out and we need it for a midnight deadline. Fred. Her pulse kicked up a notch. If she could deliver, it might mean steady work with Bird’s Away Magazine.
Hurriedly, she emailed her acceptance and checked her phone. Four o’clock. She’d have just enough