faster.
“What do you want, Steve?”
“She belongs with me and Sara.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re her closest relatives. You aren’t.”
“Jessica chose me. This wasn’t my idea. She named me Cora’s guardian in her will.”
Steve stopped, and Emily turned to face him. She could hear the low rumble of thunder far off in the distance and tears welled up in her eyes. What did he want from her? Did he expect her to just hand the baby over and walk away?
“You don’t want this.” Steve shook his head slowly, as if disappointed with a small child. “It might seem all romantic and sweet now, but babies are a huge amount of work. What about your career?”
“Let me worry about that, Steve. I’m a grown woman.”
“Fine. But when you change your mind, call me. I’ll come and get her.”
The dripping condescension in his voice was almost more than Emily could bear, and she turned around and walked away, moving toward the grave site. The service would begin soon, and they would all pay their last respects to Jessica Shaw.
When Emily looked back, she saw Sara staring after her with a strange intensity, the wind ruffling her short hair and her little girls standing at her knees. Uncle Hank didn’t seem to be noticing very much in his grief, and he was talking to Emily’s father, both men nodding sadly.
They expected to bring Cora home with them today, she realized with a chill. Did Steve and Sara really think it would be that easy, to simply point out the hard work a baby would be and have her pass Cora off like a piece of luggage? That image of Chief Greg Taylor rose in her mind again, and she knew exactly who she needed to talk to—the one person without a personal interest in this.
“The service is going to start soon.” Emily looked up in relief to see the compassionate face of her mother. “Come on, sweetie.”
Together, they made their way with the rest of the family toward the grave site where the minister was waiting, the pages of his Bible fluttering in the rising wind. It was time to say their goodbyes.
* * *
Rain pelted the sidewalk outside Greg’s office window. The afternoon light turned almost dusky in the rainstorm, and he leaned his elbows on his desk and looked out at the downpour. The plains offered little shelter from a summer storm, and as the clouds gathered, the wind whistled through the buildings. The air smelled of electricity and wet earth, and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the finger of air that wriggled through the crack of the open window. It was an old building, the kind with windows that opened at the top, leaning back on a brass hinge, and today he was thankful for the connection to the outdoors.
It had been a long morning. Before coming into work, he’d dropped by the nursing home to see his mother. The dementia was worse lately. A few months ago she remembered him perfectly and would look up at him with a smile, but this morning she frowned at him in confusion.
“Why are the police here?” she asked. “Is everyone all right?”
He hated scaring her like that.
“Yes, ma’am,” he’d said softly. “Everything is fine. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
He knew better than to try to remind her of who he was. It would only upset her further—she would seem to remember for a moment, and then suddenly look fearful, wondering why an officer was in her room and what the bad news must be. She always associated police with bad news when she was confused.
One of the nurses had given him a sympathetic pat on the arm, promising to call him when she was more aware.
What he hated worse than scaring his own mother was the helplessness. As a cop, he was used to solving problems. He had the authority to stop bad things from happening, and he made sure he did that. He was a big man, muscular and tall, and he was accustomed to the automatic respect his physique demanded, but when it came to his mother, none of these things mattered. She didn’t see him as her protector; she saw him as a threat. He wanted to do something—fix it, if he could. He wanted to put his big, brawny body between his mother and the disease that snipped away at her memories, but he couldn’t.
Sitting at his desk, he’d been going through the mounds of paperwork that came with his position, but his mind kept slipping back to his mother. After his dad was gone, his mother had a lot more to worry about, raising two kids on her own. She went back to work as a secretary. It was a job she was good at, but it kept her away from home more often than she liked.
Greg and his sister, Lynn, generally looked out for each other after school. But during school hours, Richard Pike, one of the bigger guys in his class, decided it was his life’s mission to make Greg as miserable as possible. From his head being plunged into the toilet to being beaten up during recess, Greg’s school life had been misery. Then he’d come home to the empty house and he’d sit there watching whatever show was on, trying to forget about the ache in his heart from losing his dad, and trying not to think about the next day, when he’d have to go back to school and face Richard all over again. Times like those, all he wanted was a hug from his mom, but she wouldn’t be home from work for hours yet.
That was before he learned how to box.
His mother wasn’t the only person on his mind, however. Thoughts of Emily had been worming their way in there, too...images of her with Cora in her arms and that sparkle in her eye just before a smile slid onto her face. Greg knew all too well that mixing work with pleasure was a really bad idea, but somehow his thoughts of Emily were the most comfortable thoughts available to him, so he didn’t push them away.
Scanning a form and signing the bottom, he put the paper aside and flipped down to the next triplicate form waiting for his attention. Outside, thunder boomed and the room suddenly lit up with a flash of lightning. He glanced up again. The wind had shifted direction, blowing rain in through the open window, and he stood up to shut it.
There was a tap on the door, and as he flicked the lock on the window into place, his secretary, Joyce, poked her head in.
“Chief? There’s a Miss Shaw to see you. Do you have time?”
“Yes, definitely.”
He’d answered rather quickly, to his chagrin, and Joyce smothered a smile. He hated it when she thought she could read him like a book, and he gave her an annoyed look as she stepped back and pushed the door open.
“Come on in, Miss Shaw,” she said, and she gave Greg one more look of amused knowing. Emily stepped inside, Cora’s car seat in one hand, a blanket draped over it. Emily, on the other hand, was completely drenched. Her hair was slicked down against her head, and a trickle of water ran down her cheek. She wore a black pantsuit that was equally sodden.
“What happened to you?” he asked, coming toward her. “Joyce, would you go get some towels, please?”
“You bet, Chief.”
Emily shrugged and laughed self-consciously. “It was really coming down out there. I should have just waited in my car till it let up, but then I thought I could make it and—” she waved her hand “—it doesn’t matter.”
Greg laughed. “Well, it’s nice to see you. Cora looks dry.”
Emily looked down at Cora with a tender smile. “Warm and dry,” she agreed.
“Here.” Greg helped her to peel off the black suit jacket she wore, and he took his sport coat off the hanger on the back of his door. Draping it over her shoulders, she shivered involuntarily and looked up at him gratefully. “Have a seat.”
Emily sank into the chair across from his desk. He could see the tension in her face, along her jaw and around her eyes.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“It’s a welcome break.” He gestured to the pile of paperwork.