by Skye Taylor
Sam bolted for his room and his computer.
“So, will you ask? If you need someone to go with you?”
Again, Bree sighed, but this time she didn’t close her eyes or look as stern. “Okay. I guess that’s fair.”
Relieved to get that mission accomplished, Will moved on to his next request. One he suspected he might run into more resistance on. “I’ve another favor to ask. Well, not exactly a favor. I just need your permission. And before you jump to conclusions, hear me out?”
Bree folded her hands in her lap and waited. Her expression seemed to be open at least. “What do you need my permission for?”
“Ben gave Rick a knife.”
Bree’s expression closed up slightly.
“The old man my parents befriended taught us all how to whittle. Ben still does it, like a hobby, and Rick wanted to learn how. So that’s why Ben got him the knife. But I got to thinking about it. You remember I told you about Sam and the sign language when we talked about Sam calling me Will instead of Uncle Will?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly as if suspicious of where Will was going with this line of discussion.
“Well, I thought that if Rick got a knife, and Ben was teaching him how to use it, Sam might feel left out. So, I wondered if it would be okay if I gave Sam a knife and taught him how to use it safely. I’d make sure he knows he needs to ask permission before getting it out, and before he even gets it, he’ll have to know all the rules in the Boy Scout handbook on the safe use of a jackknife. It’s not in the Cub Scout book, but he can borrow my scouting handbook to study.” Will said everything fast, thinking she might not give him a chance to get it all out, but she hadn’t interrupted or even seemed like she wanted to. “Well?”
Bree looked down at her hands, twisted them together, and flattened her fingers across her knees. Finally, she looked back up at Will. “I guess you already know I’m not eager about this, or you wouldn’t have asked for my permission.”
“I know, but I assure you—”
“The other night I was thinking about what it’s been like for the last three years,” she began, seeming to be completely off the subject. “About how Sam is growing up and maybe ready for things I never thought about. Being a girl is different than being a boy.”
Will laughed suddenly. “You can say that again.”
“I hope my trust won’t be misplaced if I say yes. Because . . .” She swallowed and smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Because I’m just getting around to accepting there are things Sam needs that I can’t give him. He likes you. He admires you. So maybe, at least for now, you’re someone he needs in his life.”
This time when she paused, her eyes seemed suddenly swamped with unshed tears. Will wanted to pull her into his arms and chase away whatever was making her sad, but the logistics, with her on that damned chair and him on the couch separated by the coffee table, didn’t allow an easy way to achieve it.
“If his dad were still alive . . .”
So that’s what had brought the tears to her eyes.
“He would probably have taught Sam all kinds of things I’d never approve of.” She made an effort to smile. “So, I guess”—she sighed—“it’s okay. For the jackknife. And the lessons.”
GIVING WILL PERMISSION to teach her son how to use a jackknife had been a big concession. Ever since she’d done so, all manner of unhappy scenarios played out in her imagination. Sam cutting himself badly when no one was around. Sam deciding to take the knife to school, which would get him suspended. Sam and Rick thinking up things to do with their knives that neither Ben nor Will taught them. But perhaps Ben and Will were already on top of that. They were boys once, too, and they probably knew better than she ever would the kinds of trouble boys could think up to get into.
In the week since Will had brought the idea up, Sam’s excitement and enthusiasm had more or less confirmed Will’s guess that Sam might feel a little envious of Rick. The fact that Sam was growing up and his world was expanding beyond her ability to keep pace was now just another thing to worry about.
Sam devoured the chapter on knives and other scouting tools with sharp blades in the book Will lent him. Only two days after he’d started, while Bree prepared dinner, Sam sat on a stool in the kitchen, reciting all the rules he’d learned and a lot more insight he’d figured out on his own. Including the prohibition on taking knives to school. Now it was just a matter of getting the knife and learning how to use it without any mayhem.
Bree was thinking about Will’s idea and Sam’s eager reaction as she turned into Carlisle Place and drove around the curving drive to her building. When she pulled into her usual parking spot, she noticed Will’s motorcycle. At least she assumed it was his. How many state troopers would be parking in front of her building? Will rarely brought his bike here. Why today?
Wondering about the reasons for Will’s bike to be parked out front occupied her mind until she got to the apartment and found Sam’s backpack dumped just inside the door. That’s when she recalled that Will had met Sam’s bus that afternoon instead of Sam getting off with Rick as he usually did on Wednesday afternoons.
“Sam? Will?” Maybe they were up at Will’s apartment. She dropped her briefcase on the couch and headed to her bedroom to shuck her heels and slip into something more comfortable. On her way, she stopped at the deck door and slid it open to let in some fresh air.
Sam and Will were at the picnic table out back, heads bent over something she couldn’t see. Bree stepped out onto the little deck. Will straddled the picnic table bench, one arm resting on the table and the other elbow on his knee as he watched Sam. With his legs dangling off the bench, Sam hunched low, and it took a moment before Bree realized he was wielding a shiny new pocket knife. One hand clutched a stick as he carefully shaved the bark off it.
As she watched, a wave of sadness flooded into her. Ed should have been here for Sam. There were so many things Sam had missed that Ed would have provided. Guy things. Guy activities. And more than that—simple father-son companionship.
Sam laid the stick on the table and folded up his new knife, cautiously keeping his fingers clear of the blade. He looked up at Will for approval and must have gotten it because he beamed with pleasure. Then he threw his arms about Will’s neck and hugged him.
Chapter 15
“HEY! CAMERON!”
Will looked up from gassing up his bike to see his friend and fellow trooper Mateo Diaz standing on the curb outside the café attached to the gas station and convenience store. He wore civvies and a huge grin. Will waved as the nozzle clicked off.
“You have time for lunch and a cup of coffee? I’ve got some news you might want to hear.”
“Always have time for coffee, but I just had a sub for lunch,” Will answered as he claimed his receipt and climbed back onto his motorcycle. He released the brake and propelled the bike toward a parking space.
“I’ll save you a stool.” Diaz disappeared into the café.
A few moments later Will sat down at the counter next to Diaz. A steaming cup of coffee already awaited him along with a slice of pecan pie.
“Figured you could still find room for dessert,” Diaz said as he gestured with his fork.
“What are you doing down this way?” Diaz normally patrolled north around Jacksonville.
“Came to see my new nephew.”
“Well, tell your sister congratulations.” Will took a bite of pie and followed it with a swallow of coffee.
“I will. Nick is so totally puffed up with pride it’s a wonder he can button his shirt.” Diaz chuckled. “Just wait ’til he’s been up floor walking a few nights.”
“He’ll survive. I’m told there’s something kind of special about being up with a newborn in the middle of the night. It’s dark and quiet, and it’s just you and this miniature hum
an being who trusts you totally. My brothers survived. Nick will too.”
Will thought about Sam and the fact that his father had never been around to walk the floor much. Ed Reagan had missed a lot. Why he’d continued to sign up for more tours baffled Will. And in the end, he’d missed out on too much.
“Hey, Tina.” Diaz hailed the waitress and signaled for a refill on the coffee.
Will held his cup out to the slender redhead. “Thanks. You didn’t have to hustle down here quite that fast. My buddy here, he’s always impatient.” He turned to his friend. “So, what’s the news you’re so eager to impart?”
“I got a look at the short list. You’re on it.”
“The short list?” Will’s mind went blank. What list?
“For the Rapid Response Team.”
That list! The last time he’d thought about the new teams, he’d been dismayed to realize he wasn’t so eager as he’d been when he first applied.
“You don’t want to know how I know?”
“I figure you’ll tell me.”
“You didn’t hear this from me, got it?”
Will nodded and took another bite of his pie.
“The captain called me into the office to ask about a case I’m on. He got called out for a few minutes. I wasn’t snooping, I promise, but the list was right there in his in-basket. Couldn’t miss it.”
“You didn’t have to read it,” Will chided with a chuckle.
“I tell ya, it was right there. How could I not read it?”
“By minding your own business.”
“What’s got into you today? I thought you’d be pleased to know there are still eight slots left, and there were eight names on the list.” Diaz turned to frown at him.
Pleased was not the emotion swirling through Will at the moment. Having his name on a list of men headed for SWAT training was probably not helpful while he was doing his best to change Bree’s mind about troopers and the dangers they faced. He hadn’t asked, but he suspected she wasn’t even happy about the motorcycle he rode every day.
“Aren’t you even a little excited?” Diaz asked, looking puzzled.
“Of course, I’m excited.” Or he would have been a few weeks back.
The frown lifted from Diaz’ face. “I’m on it, too. This squad is going to kick ass!” He punched Will in the shoulder.
Will finished the last of his pie and stood up. “I appreciate the heads-up, but I’ve got to get back to work. Don’t forget to tell your sister congrats for me.” He turned and strode out of the café.
THE MOMENT SHE heard Will’s voice coming from the direction of the café counter, Bree stopped listening to Emmy Lou Davis and her ghost stories about the Jolee Plantation. Sitting in a booth with her back to the row of stools, she couldn’t see him, but Bree would recognize Will’s deep-pitched drawl anywhere.
He was polite to the waitress and even sounded genuinely interested in his companion’s family news. The comment about sleepless nights wormed its way into Bree’s core. Will made it sound as though he might even envy the new father. That said something about a man who wasn’t even a husband yet.
Bree tried to drag her attention back to Emmy Lou and the story about a slave woman who had died of a broken heart according to legend.
“Of course,” Emmy Lou said, “no one really dies of a broken heart. A heart attack, sure, but not because it got broke. But in this case Kezia helped it along.”
Now the other man was talking about a list that Will’s name was on. It sounded dangerous.
Emmy Lou touched Bree’s hand. “Are you all right, Brianna Marie?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Well, you seem a little distracted.” Emmy Lou leaned across her nearly empty lunch plate and lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s not those handsome young men at the counter that’s got your attention, is it?”
Bree felt the color rise in her cheeks. She didn’t bother to deny the charge. Emmy Lou had sharp eyes and a keen sense for local gossip. She wouldn’t have believed her anyway. “Tell me the story. I promise to listen.” Will was distracting all the time, but at the moment his stated excitement about an opportunity that was, in his companion’s words, kick-ass, filled her with unexplained dread. It was hard to pay attention.
“Her husband was sold,” Emmy Lou replied. “Sometimes when a slave got sold, he or she just went to another nearby plantation. If that had been the case, the couple would have been able to see each other now and then. He could have come sneaking back in the night, if you know what I mean.” This time it was Emmy Lou’s turn to blush. “But they took him all the way to Missouri. The poor woman knew she’d never see him again, and her children would grow up never knowing their father.”
That got Bree’s full attention back. Sam would grow up not knowing his father either. But she hadn’t died of a broken heart, even though it had felt like she might at the time.
“A few weeks after Kezia’s husband got sold away, she committed suicide.”
Shocked, Bree blurted, “What about her children?” That a mother would do something so drastic and leave her children behind was unthinkable.
“She killed them first. She wasn’t literate, she couldn’t leave a note or anything, and no one could tell for sure, but the other slaves insisted it was because Kezia wanted to take her sons away from the master in revenge for his having sold her husband. There were three of them. Just little boys, not old enough to be trained up for service yet, but they would have been.”
“That’s awful.”
Emmy Lou made a face. “I know. But slavery was pretty awful. I don’t know that I blame Kezia for what she did. And she’s paid for it. For almost two hundred years.”
“How has she paid for it?”
“Those innocent boys went to heaven, but Kezia was doomed to remain here. She looks for them all the time. She roams about the old plantation, looking for them and weeping. That’s a long time to pay for a broken heart, don’t you think?”
Bree nodded, not sure how to answer since Kezia hadn’t really died of a broken heart anyway. She had committed a mortal sin. She’d taken the lives of three innocent boys and then her own. Was Kezia’s spirit the eyes Bree had felt watching her the day she’d gone exploring at the plantation?
“Your lunch hour must surely be over by now.” Emmy Lou pushed her plate away and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “You just drop me back at my place and be on your way before Mr. Kett starts fretting.”
“Mr. Kett does not fret. At least not about me taking a long lunch.” Bree laughed but gathered up her things and slid out of the booth.
A few minutes later, Emmy Lou waved to Bree from her front door and disappeared inside. Bree pulled away from the curb, thinking about Kezia and her little boys, but by the time she arrived back at work, Will and his new kick-ass job prospect returned to her thoughts.
BEN WALKED IN from the kitchen and handed Will a beer. “Meg’s asleep along with the boys. She was reading to them, but she must have been tired and never got to the end of the book.” He dropped down on the other end of the couch.
“I’m not surprised. I’d get worn out carrying around two extra people all day. If guys had to do the incubating, there’d probably be a lot less people in the world.”
“And that’s not even counting childbirth.” Ben doubled over and groaned.
Will smiled at his brother’s theatrics but turned back to the basketball game on TV.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“What makes you think I’ve got anything on my mind?” Will glanced at his brother, then back at the TV.
“I’m your twin. Remember? Besides, you’ve been more than a little distracted all evening.”
Will took a swig of his beer and studied the bottle as he dragged his thumbnail down the
side of the label, tearing a long, narrow gouge in the damp paper. “I’ve got a decision to make.”
Ben grabbed the remote and turned the game off. “Tell me about it.”
“I’m apparently on the list for the response team I applied for.”
“Congratulations.”
“I haven’t been offered the job yet.” Mateo’s news would have filled Will with eager anticipation just a few short weeks earlier. Now the possibility filled him with questions he didn’t have the answers to.
“But just that you’re on the list—that’s excellent news. Isn’t it?”
Will sighed.
“But you’re not excited about it. What’s changed?” Ben put his beer to his mouth and swallowed.
“Brianna Reagan.”
Ben set his bottle down and met Will’s gaze. Ben’s blue eyes were so like his own that it felt like looking in a mirror. Sometimes he felt like Ben could see right into his soul.
“I didn’t know you two had gotten that serious.”
“We haven’t. Yet.”
“But you’re still pursuing her.”
“She’s afraid of getting involved with me.”
“Afraid? Of you? Why?” Those identical blue eyes widened, and Ben’s blond brows rose.
“She’s afraid of falling in love with a trooper.”
“There’re plenty of statistics to show that law enforcement has a higher rate of divorce than the general population,” Ben said reasonably. “Maybe she’s just being cautious.”
“It’s more than that. It’s because Sam’s dad died in action. She didn’t come right out and say so, but it’s as if she’s afraid as soon as she lets herself care too much, I’ll get shot, and it’ll be the same thing all over again.”
“Well, you can’t guarantee you won’t.”
