“If you don’t want me to worry about you, fine. I won’t.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But Seth is part of both our lives, and if you think that child isn’t picking up on how overworked and exhausted and stressed you are, you’d better think again.”
“Okay, I’ll admit I’m going through a rough patch right now, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Then you’d better tell that to Seth.”
She laid her hand on his arm. Joe frowned down at her fingers and told himself it was just a trick of his imagination that a single light touch could make him that hot, that fast.
Everybody’s Hero
Karen Templeton
KAREN TEMPLETON,
a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA® Award nominee, is the mother of five sons and living proof that romance and dirty diapers are not mutually exclusive terms. An Easterner transplanted to Albuquerque, New Mexico, she spends far too much time trying to coax her garden to yield roses and produce something resembling a lawn, all the while fantasizing about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.
She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her by writing c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, or online at www.karentempleton.com.
Author’s Note
Children with Down syndrome display an enormous range of ability, interests and mental acuity; therefore, the character of Kristen Salazar is in no way meant to represent all children with DS, but merely one child; nor are her limitations meant to infer that other children and young adults with DS might face the same limitations.
I’d like to thank the many posters on the message boards at the National Down Syndrome Association for their help and guidance during the early stages of writing this book, especially those of you who took the time to write to me privately to share your stories. The children in your care are truly blessed by your love.
Karen Templeton
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
The child’s cry knifed straight to her soul.
Although how in heaven’s name Taylor heard it over the din of little banshees currently running amok in the Sunday school room, she had no idea. Frowning, she scanned the swarm of Frazier and Logan kids streaking across the room, but nope—everybody certainly seemed fine in here….
Seven-year-old Noah Logan bounced off her thighs, knocking her off balance.
“Sorry, Miz Taylor,” he mumbled breathlessly, taking off again as she grabbed the window sill to right herself…and saw the man standing outside by the mud-splattered SUV, the sobbing child clinging to him as though he’d fall off a cliff if he let go.
“Keep an eye on things, Blair, would you?” she said to the auburn-haired teenager a few feet away and then scooted outside, her retinas cowering in the blazing June sunlight. Barely eight in the morning and heat already oozed off the parking lot black-top, welding her feet to her running shoes and promising to be one of those just-wanna-take-off-your-skin days. Then a dollop of shade bumped the sun from her eyes and heat took on a whole ’nother definition. Even without being able to fully see the man’s face.
Strong, broad back underneath a khaki workshirt. Broken-in jeans smoothed over a butt that was truly the stuff of fantasies. Bourbon highlights etched in short, dark, finger-tingling wavy hair. Tall enough to definitely get a girl’s attention.
And send that girl’s libido streaking like an overfriendly pup through the door of her common sense.
With a sigh, Taylor grabbed her libido by the scruff of the neck and yanked it back inside, slamming shut the door, thinking, Joe Salazar, I presume. The man Didi had told her about yesterday, who was here for the summer—and only the summer—to oversee the remodel of the Double Arrow, Hank Logan’s guest lodge. Only, judging from the obviously unhappy child currently sobbing his heart out in Joe’s arms, right now the dude had more on his plate than the renovation of an old motel.
Maybe around eight or so and the picture of misery, the little boy noticed her still standing several feet away. Pure terror widened deep brown eyes, which vanished into the man’s neck as he wailed, “Don’t l-leave me, Joe, please don’t leave me!”
“Hey, buddy…we went all over this, remember?” Tanned—and no doubt competent—fingers rubbed the space between the boy’s shoulder blades, belying the frustration lurking at the edges of the low, country drawl not uncommon to Latinos born and bred in this part of the world. “There’s lots of other kids here—”
“But I d-don’t know any of them! What if they’re m-mean? Or they don’t like m-me?”
“I know, I know, this is all real scary. And believe me, I don’t want to leave you, either—”
“Then why are you?”
Taylor saw Joe gently set the boy on his feet, then stoop to look him in the eye. “I don’t have any choice, Seth,” he said softly, massaging one frail-looking shoulder. “You know that. I’ve got work I can’t put off anymore. Lots of people are depending on me to do my job, which I can’t do if I’m worried you might get hurt. It’s not safe, letting you hang around a construction site, you know? Besides, you’ll be bored out of your mind—”
“I don’t care! And I won’t get hurt, I promise! I’m big enough to take care of myself! I used to stay home alone all the time!”
Taylor’s stomach clenched at the child’s admission as Joe stood, his body language reeking of displeasure. “Maybe so. But things are different now. And I could get in a lot of trouble if I didn’t make sure you were looked after properly while I was at work. So let’s go—”
But the boy saw Taylor again and backed away, shaking his head and whimpering. Joe turned and saw her, too, the help me expression on his face undeniable.
And undeniably dangerous for someone whose sorry libido piddled on the carpet at the mere sight of wide shoulders and a nice butt. However, the guy was obviously in a bind, and Taylor was obviously going to help him because that’s what she did. Either that, or the heat was already getting to her.
“Let me guess,” she said with a smile, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her white denim shorts. “Somebody’s not exactly hot on the idea of day camp.”
She caught a flash of annoyance in eyes even darker than the boy’s, the tensing of a jaw already hard enough to break something over, both of which seemed at odds with the tenderness he’d shown the child just seconds before. And an immediate, second flash of what she guessed was guilt. “We