A string of snot trailed from her nose. As if she sensed him staring at it, she stuck out her tongue to lick her upper lip.
“Don’t do that!” His stomach came up into his throat. Straightening one leg and lifting his hip, he dived a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. After determining that his handkerchief was clean, he clamped it over her nose. “Blow.”
She sputtered her lips.
“No, honey. Through your nose.”
She blew through her lips again, this time with more force.
Heath sat forward, twisting his mouth, wrinkling his nose, and honking to demonstrate. When he realized what a spectacle he was making of himself, he glanced around to be sure no one was watching. Then he snorted again. She finally blew for him, after which he damned near pinched her nose off trying to wipe it.
After returning the handkerchief to his pocket, he noticed her shoe was untied. When he lifted her foot onto his knee, she toppled backward, barely managing to catch herself from falling off the cushion.
Taking care of a kid was damned hard work.
“I’m sorry.” He lowered her foot onto the cushion so her leg wouldn’t be hiked at such an angle, then helped her sit back up. “You’re not very big, are you, half pint?”
“Almost five.”
He had insulted her. “I meant size-wise. You’re gonna be little like your mama.”
“My mommy’s not little. You’re just great big.”
Heath chewed on that as he struggled to tie her laces. Who, he wondered, had come up with the brilliant idea of making children’s shoelaces so short?
“I guess I probably do seem big to you. It’s all relative, right?”
She clearly didn’t know what “relative” meant. In addition to mastering nose blowing and tying impossibly short laces, a man had to learn a whole new language.
“There,” he said when he finally got her shoe tied.
She started picking at the bow. “Owee! It pinches.”
“It does?” Heath checked, and sure enough, he had the strings too tight. His patience frayed as he picked at the knot he’d tied. “There. Is that better?”
“Uh-huh.” She squeezed her knees together and started to squirm on the cushion. Then she clamped a hand between her legs. “Sher’f man? I gots to go.”
Any fool knew what go meant. “No problem.”
Except for one. He didn’t know where the women’s john was, and taking her to the men’s didn’t strike him as a good idea. Tugging her along, he went to the receptionist’s desk. “Trish, can you steer me to the ladies’ room?”
Trish held up a finger, signaling him to wait until she had finished on the telephone. Heath tried not to feel alarmed when Sammy started to prance. Surely she hadn’t waited until the very last second. He had some leeway, here. Little kids, he assured himself, probably just pranced when the urge hit, that was all.
Finally concluding her conversation, Trish pointed down the hall. “On your left, just this side of the CCU.”
Stepping it out as fast as Sammy’s short legs would allow, which wasn’t very fast, Heath led the way. Prance, prance. He started to get a bad feeling about halfway there and wondered what frigging lunatic had put the women’s john a mile from the waiting room. He quickened his pace. About that time, Sammy made a small sound of distress. He glanced down and saw that she was holding herself and pulling an awful face.
She wasn’t going to make it. Heath swung her up into his arms and lengthened his stride, walking so fast he could have damned near competed in the Olympics.
Once outside the restroom, he set Sammy down, shoved open the door, and nudged her inside, saying, “I’ll wait right here for you. All right?”
The instant the door swung closed, she let out an ear-splitting shriek.
Heath stared at the blue-and-white sign on the door, which sported a stick figure wearing a skirt.
Son of a bitch.
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Chapter 6
Heath glanced up and down the hall. In the line of duty, he’d entered a lot of places where he wasn’t welcome, sometimes under fire, and over the years, he’d developed nerves of steel. So why the hell was he sweating at the thought of invading a women’s restroom?
Behind the closed door, Sammy’s shrill cries grew louder, a damn siren knifing against his eardrums. He had to do something.
Casual does it, he told himself. Just act normal. He was the sheriff, after all. If some lady was in there, he had a perfectly good explanation. Right?
He nudged the door open. Damn. It was as dark as a cave in there. He’d shoved the poor little thing into the restroom without turning on the light for her.
Screw stick figures in skirts, he decided, hitching up his courage.
With the flat of his hand, he shoved the door open all the way, then hit the light switch. Startled by the sudden brightness, Sammy shrieked and backed away from him, her hands splayed over the wet crotch of her pink stretch pants. He might as well have been advancing on her with a club. Biting off a curse, he let the door swing closed.
“Hey, sweetcakes, what’s the matter?” As if he didn’t know. He glanced at the wet spot on her pants. “Uh-oh. You had an accident, huh?” He hunkered down, hoping he might seem a little less intimidating. “Oh, well. It’s more my fault than yours.”
She gave no sign that she’d even heard him, just kept screeching and backing up. When she ran into the wall, the color drained from her face and her eyes went wide with panic. Heath’s heart caught. This child wasn’t just upset; she was terrified.
He extended a hand to her. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her gaze shifted to something behind him. Before Heath could react, a huge black purse came from out of nowhere and hit him on the temple. Spots exploded before his eyes and he reeled sideways, barely managing to catch his balance with a hand against the wall. Sammy’s shrieks went up in volume.
“You pervert!” an outraged female voice cried.
Heath didn’t have time to stand up before the purse hit him again, this time on the shoulder. Between that blow and the next, he blinked to clear his vision and glimpsed a gigantic woman looming over him, her jowly face flushed with anger. “Ma’am, I—”
“Don’t you ‘ma’am’ me, you no-good, lowdown skunk!”
As she raised her arms to swing the purse again, the hem of her blue dress rode up, revealing the tops of her thigh-high nylons, which had slipped to her knees. Above the bands of brown elastic, rolls of doughy flesh jiggled every time she moved.
“Lady!” Heath threw up an arm to guard his face. If this was what fatherhood was like, he couldn’t say it came highly recommended. “Would you stop?”
“Pervert! Help! Someone come help! I’ve caught a child molester!”
A what? Heath couldn’t believe his ears. “Lady, I’m not a child”—kerwhack—“molester! I’m the county sheriff!”
“I don’t care if you’re the king of England!” Kerwhack. “You’re not going to accost a child”—kerwhack—“when I’m here to stop you! I’ve read about animals like you! Preying on little girls.” Kerwhack. “I declare, people aren’t safe anywhere nowadays!”
As the woman drew back to take another swing, he grabbed her purse. Shoving to his feet, he said, “You’ve got this all wrong.”
As if to give lie to his protest, Sammy shrank farther back into the corner, her shrieks so loud his ears were starting to ring.
Heath turned back to the woman, whose short, tightly-permed brown hair frizzed out around a black pillbox hat. “Honestly, lady, this isn’t how it looks.”
Trish shoved open the door just then and poked her blond head through the opening. “What on earth is going on in here?”
“This—this—” Chin trembling, cheeks flushed, the rotund woman was so beside herself she could scarcely speak. “This monster was trying to molest this little girl.”
“What?” Trish fixed a startled gaze on Heath. “Th
ere must be a misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding! I saw him!” The woman turned an outraged gaze on Sammy. “Tell her, child!” She jerked her purse from Heath’s hand. “I won’t let this awful man hurt you, mark my words. Just tell the lady what happened.”
Sammy gulped and went suddenly silent, her small face turning an alarming shade of red.
“This man,” Trish intervened firmly, “is the county sheriff. This child is in his care while her mother receives emergency medical treatment.”
The woman blinked and raked Heath with a critical glare that lingered on his faded jeans and dusty boots. “The sheriff? Hmph. You don’t look like a law officer!”
Heath glanced down. “I’m off duty.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not a pervert!” the woman said with a huff. “I read the papers, you know.”
Heath drew a fast breath. “Yes, ma’am, and you’re right to be concerned, but I was just trying to explain to the youngster here—”
“Explain, ha! Scaring her half to death, more like! And saying you wouldn’t hurt her in that”—she shuddered, making her cheeks jiggle—“oily voice. I know your kind!”
“He really is the sheriff, honest,” Trish said, her mouth twitching. “And as far as I know, he has no perverted tendencies. The voice is a little oily, though, isn’t it?”
“He’d better be the sheriff, or it’ll be on your head, young woman!” Shouldering Trish out of her way, she exited the bathroom.
Heath ran a hand over his hair then cast a sheepish glance at Trish, who leaned against the door frame, her arms folded at her waist. “Oily?” he said. “I’m definitely writing you up the next time I catch you speeding.”
“You’ve never stopped me yet, and you know it.” She smiled and glanced at Sammy who was alternately holding her breath and taking quick gasps of air. “Do you need some help? It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Would you mind?” Heath was relieved beyond words that she had offered. Even the soap in here smelled different, a slightly nauseating mix that reminded him of hand lotion, strawberry sherbet, and cheap perfume. No urinals lining the wall, no condom dispenser. All he saw was a coin-drop dispenser for tampons, two of which he was tempted to buy to use as earplugs. “I’m not exactly an old hand with little girls.”
A twinkle warmed Trish’s blue eyes. “Most men aren’t.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees, smiling as she regarded the child. “Hi. Remember me? I’m Trish, the lady who was sitting at the front desk with the funny looking wires on her head.”
“Trish can help you get cleaned up, Sammy. Would you like that?”
“Sure she would.” Trish winked conspiratorially. “Us gals have to stick together. Right?”
The instant Trish moved, Sammy started to shriek again, sharp, shrill bursts of sound that made Heath cringe. The receptionist reeled to a stop. “Maybe it’d be better if I just stood watch for you out in the hall. I don’t think she likes me.”
Heath didn’t feel very popular himself. But, then, this was his problem, not Trish’s, and he really couldn’t blame her for not wanting to take it on.
The receptionist wasted no time in getting out of there. Heath gazed after her for a moment, wishing he could run, too. No such luck. He turned to face the child, who was looking at him as if he were a swamp creature straight out of a sci-fi flick.
Hunkering down again, he met her gaze. When she stopped screaming for a second to take a breath, he said, “Sammy, don’t you want to see your mama?”
That got her attention. She stared at him, her narrow chest expanded, a pent-up breath puffing out her flushed cheeks. Then, with a gush of released air, she shakily replied, “Yup.”
“Well, before we can go back to the waiting room, you have to stop crying.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “We have to be extra quiet because of all the sick people who are trying to sleep.”
Her tearful gaze shifted to the closed door. It didn’t take a genius to realize she would have made fast tracks if she could have gotten past him.
Very cautiously, Heath pushed to his feet and extended a hand to her. “Come on, honey. Your mama should be almost finished by now. Let’s go back and wait for her.”
Sammy stared at his outstretched palm. Heath took a step toward her. At his approach, she hunched her shoulders, ducked her head, and threw up her thin arms.
Heath reeled to a stop as if he’d just walked face first into a cement wall. The poor little thing was afraid he meant to strike her? He heard an odd sound, glanced down to see water pooling around her sneakers, and realized she was so scared that she’d lost control of her bladder again.
“Oh, Sammy…” He dropped to his knees in front of her, his shins cracking hard against the tiles.
What in God’s name had happened to this child? Granted, it was an unsettling situation for a little kid, having her mother snatched away from her and being left with a stranger. The interference of that purse-swinging Amazon from hell hadn’t helped much, either. But for her to react like this? Something was very, very wrong.
“I want my mommy!” she wailed. “I want my mommy!”
That made two of them. “Sammy, sweetheart…”
If anything, she only screamed louder. He doubted she was even hearing him, let alone understanding anything he said.
Acting on instinct, Heath gathered her into his arms. “Hey, hey…it’s all right, Sammy. Nobody’s going to hurt you, honey. I promise. Nobody.”
She arched her back, trying to put distance between their bodies. Heath tightened his hold on her. She was such a little thing. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the fragile ladder of her ribs, under his palm the delicate ridge of her spine. How could anyone have struck her? Yet, as sure as he breathed, he knew someone had.
Rage roiled within him, coming so suddenly and with such intensity, he started to shake. He struggled for calm. Later, he could ponder the how and why of all this, and fantasize about kicking someone’s ass. But right now, Sammy was all that mattered.
He shoved to his feet and began to pace the restroom floor, jostling her and rubbing her back. With a high-pitched wail, she shuddered and shrank from his touch.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s all right. Shhh. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Heath knew he was repeating himself, but there were some things that couldn’t be said too many times. He paced to the wall, turned, retraced his steps. Over and over, the same movements, the same words, the same tone of voice. He’d never held a small child like this, never been called upon to comfort one, but on some level, he sensed that the very sameness of it all might soothe her.
When her cries began to lose their shrillness and became a monotonous mewling, he knew her fear of him was finally receding.
The wetness of her pants had started to seep through his shirt, turning his skin icy. He glanced down and saw that she’d been standing near an air-conditioning vent. No wonder she was shuddering. He drew her closer, hoping to share some of his heat.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered again. “No one’s going to hurt you. I’ve got you, honey. Never again, do you hear? No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”
Even as he spoke, he heard warning bells at the back of his mind. What was he saying? This child wasn’t his. He was making promises he might not be able to keep.
Yet the words were there at the back of his throat, waiting to burst forth every time he expelled a breath. And, God help him, he meant them. He wanted to kill with his bare hands the son of a bitch who’d done this to her.
Oh, yes, it had been a man. He would have bet his last buck on that. Meredith, so wary and distrustful. Goliath, sneaking off to be with Sammy, then behaving erratically when she was frightened. Sammy, peering out at him through the window that afternoon, eyes wide and wary. Suddenly, all the pieces started to fall into place.
A mean-hearted bastard had to factor into the equation somewhere. Sammy’s father, possibly? That made s
ense and would certainly explain why Meredith had chosen to live so far from town and never had visitors. She could be on the run, trying to hide from an abusive husband. There was also a strong possibility, given her reclusive lifestyle, that she was a divorced, noncustodial parent who had abducted her child to protect her. As a sheriff, Heath knew that the courts weren’t infallible. Sometimes the parent least fit to raise a child was granted custody, and in a case of abuse, the noncustodial parent could be pushed into doing some pretty desperate things.
Heath had no idea how much time passed. Pacing, turning, whispering, patting. He only knew that Sammy finally went limp and that her cries gave way to occasional whimpers. He cupped a hand over the back of her head. Her hair felt like corn silk.
“You feeling better?” he asked huskily.
She snuggled closer and hooked one arm around his neck, her dainty little fingers resting lightly on his nape. As hugs went, it wasn’t much. But to Heath, it meant the world. Trust. It was always a gift to be treasured, but coming from this child, it was absolutely priceless. He stopped pacing and pressed his face against her sweet-smelling curls, as close to tears as he’d ever been in his adult life.
Three women were waiting outside in the hall with Trish by the time Heath exited the restroom. He knew he ought to be embarrassed, but right then, restroom protocol seemed unimportant. Once back in the alcove, he resumed his seat, cradling Sammy against his chest. She clung to him like a baby opossum, her spindly arms around his neck, her face pressed to the hollow of his throat, her short legs clamped over his ribs.
Heath continued to rub her back. He didn’t speak, and neither did she. Some things couldn’t be said with words. She made no attempt to move, conveying a wealth of things, namely that she felt safe. The realization brought another lump to his throat.
Eventually her breathing changed to soft, even little huffs against his neck. Realizing she’d fallen asleep, he smiled and rested his jaw against her silken hair.
Maybe, he decided, fatherhood wouldn’t be such a bad deal, after all.
Forever After Page 9
