by Mae Nunn
“I wasn’t more than a baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. It’s not like I’m emotionally scarred or anything. But they didn’t leave a will and nobody in the family could take me, so I was eventually adopted.”
“Still, that’s a terrible loss for a child no matter what the circumstances. How long have you known this?”
“Since middle school when my folks thought they should tell me the few facts they had.”
“Have you made contact with any family members of your birth parents?”
“No.” He shook his head. “There’s no reason why I should after all this time. If anybody cared about me, they’d have made an effort by now.”
“Maybe it’s as simple as not having your name.”
“My name was never changed.” His eyes were downcast. “When the Brysons adopted me, they just tacked their last name on the end. I dropped Bryson when I turned eighteen.”
Her heart was heavy with sadness. His adoptive parents must have been crushed by such an action from their son. “May I speak frankly?”
“Go ahead.” He seemed to accept whatever might be coming.
“You’ve only been here a few hours and I’ve already heard you mention resenting your parents’ faith and now your rejection of their name. Have you considered how terribly painful that must have been for the people who raised you as their own?”
Oh Father, how hurtful it must be when so many of Your beloved children do the same thing to You!
“Of course I have.” Heath dropped his chin, not so much to look contrite as to indicate that he got the point. “Look, they’re good, Christian folks and I show my gratitude the best way I can. But in all our years together we never saw eye-to-eye on anything important. So it didn’t come as a great surprise when they told me about the adoption. All of a sudden our failure to connect kinda made sense.”
Olivia sipped cautiously while she considered his revelation. This man was as confused and complicated as anybody she’d encountered in her social work career. He seemed to have everything going for him and nothing to show for it emotionally or relationally.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Heath insisted. “I’m beyond redemption.”
“Nobody’s that far gone, no matter what’s in their past or how big their issues may seem. We serve a God of second chances. He forgives us when we truly repent. He always welcomes us back.”
Heath gave a dismissive shake of his head. “I have a hard time buying that logic, but I realize it’s a big part of what makes the whole faith deal seem attractive. I can see where people like you would think God’s forgiving and reliable. There’s not much reason to challenge that kind of teaching when you grow up in a picture-perfect family.”
Olivia didn’t need to consider whether the moisture burning her eyes was brought on by the steam from her tea or the sarcasm in his tone.
“You’re not the only person who hasn’t lived a happily-ever-after life, you know. My mother died when I was fourteen and my father fled the country over tax evasion charges when I was nineteen. I woke up alone one morning and realized God was all I had, and that was the day I also understood He was all I needed. He would never leave me or forsake me. It sure was attractive, as you put it, to have one thing in my life that was reliable on all those nights when I was flat broke and alone in an empty house ashamed to show my face in this town.”
Heath’s normally complacent heart thumped as he watched color deepen the lines in Olivia’s face. Her eyes gleamed with indignation. He had the strangest urge to pull this woman into his arms and hug her protectively until the painful memories of her youth faded. But the firm set of her jaw warned him to keep his distance. She was likely to practice that judo throw he’d just taught her if he got too close.
I pushed too far, too aggressively. But the job is what it is. I’m here to search and destroy, not rescue and recover. And this lady is not exactly a damsel in distress, anyway.
What if she made good on her threat to call Biddle? Yeah, so what? He was the one who’d decided that using a disguise wasn’t necessary on this job. But Biddle didn’t realize that Heath’s alter-ego characters were comfortable inside their borrowed skin, able to wing it no matter what the circumstances.
Not so for the flesh-and-blood man who couldn’t seem to get his stories straight. He’d just pulled that accident stuff out of thin air. With this new twist to his lies, he’d have to be careful not to slip up.
“Why’d you get quiet all of a sudden? No more profound wisdom to share with me?” Olivia was torqued.
He should apologize. Contrition always seemed to make ladies happy.
“I’m sorry,” he made the effort with as few words as possible.
“For what?” She wasn’t gonna let him off the hook. Her heels may have been propped up on the coffee table, but Heath could sense the mental tapping of her toe as she waited for his answer. She tipped her head to the right and glared his way.
A few hours ago, in the last light of day, he’d thought her eyes were dark. In this shadowy room they were chunks of coal framed by extraordinary fair skin that any man in his right mind would reach out and touch.
On second thought, a guy had to be crazy to mess with such an angry woman. And Heath was feeling a little left of sane at the moment.
Chapter Six
“Well?” she demanded. “Exactly what is it that you’re sorry for?” She reminded him of his weak apology.
“Evidently you have something in mind, so why don’t you tell me?” he improvised.
“Let me see.” She tapped her index finger to her chin, pretending to consider her response. “You should be sorry for shooting your mouth off without having the facts. And you should be ashamed of yourself for focusing on what’s lacking in your life when you have such abundance to be thankful for. And don’t even get me started on the foolishness that landed you in here when there are so many important things you could be doing with your time.”
“You hit the mark on all counts.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I offered you a potshot and you fired with both barrels.”
Regret softened the squint of her eyes. “Okay, maybe that was too much.”
“Nope, not at all.” He shook his head. Her words were familiar. “It’s not far from what my mom would have said, so I suppose I had it coming.”
“There’s that parallel between me and your mother again. You’ve made it clear y’all didn’t see eye-to-eye on much, so I’m thinkin’ that doesn’t bode well for you and me.”
“My mom and I disagree a lot but I respect her, just as I respect you for what you’re doing with this place.” He swept an open palm toward the room.
“And there’s a lot more to do tomorrow.” Olivia stood, the mug cupped between her hands and held close as if she had a chill. “So, I’m going to get some sleep and I suggest you do the same. Remember, you’ve got predawn duties.”
“Yeah, Velma gave me the list. I think I can figure it all out on my own.”
“You won’t be alone. I’ll be down first thing to give you a hand.”
“You mean to keep an eye on me, don’t you?”
A wry smile curved her pink lips. Her fingers fluttered a goodbye wave and she shuffled toward the door on fuzzy slippers.
“Don’t look so surprised.” Olivia acknowledged Heath’s wide eyes as he entered the kitchen not very many hours later. “I told you I’d be down early.”
“Yeah, but early is daylight. This is still the middle of the night.” He pointed to the big round wall clock. It was just after 4:00 a.m.
She continued to punch out biscuits and place the soft dough on huge baking sheets while the ovens heated up.
“I had a stuffy head and thought it might clear up faster if I got out of bed.”
Heath slid a fresh apron over his head and tied the strings behind his back. The man was attractive even at this gosh-awful hour, and suiting up for kitchen duty made him doubly appealing. Olivia checked her image in the blurry reflecti
on in the glass of the wall-mounted oven. The flour that coated her hands also smudged her face, and scarecrow hair poked out from beneath the elastic of her hairnet.
“You remind me of a high school cafeteria lady,” he teased.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” She returned his grin and wondered when she’d totally stopped making an effort about her appearance.
“Do I need one of those?” His eyes glinted as he smiled and pointed toward her white nylon cap.
She slanted a glance his way that acknowledged he’d had his fun. “It’s not required, but I try to set a good example for the kitchen help who have any hair to speak of.”
“Where would you like me to get started?”
A puff of flour danced in the air as she waved toward the dining area. “Get coffee perking and make sure the sideboard is set with clean plates and utensils. Breakfast starts at five and you’ll be amazed how many people will eat and get out the door as soon as the sun’s up.”
“Really? They don’t want to hang around inside where it’s warm?”
“Not an option.” She shook her head. “Unless there’s a weather crisis, everybody but the residents have to be out by eight o’clock so we can get started on our day.”
“Get started? What do you call this?”
“This is what I call quiet time. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Two hours later Olivia signaled across the room for Heath to join her. She placed a basket of hot biscuits, fresh from the oven, and a jar of jelly on the table before settling into a chair. As Heath took the opposite seat, her stomach rumbled in a very unladylike way.
“Sounds like you took a breakfast break just in time.” He offered her the basket and then put two on his own plate.
She placed a hand over her tummy, willing it to quiet down. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”
“How could I miss something that loud?” He stabbed a pat of butter. “It was either your stomach or a diesel truck.”
“I guess we’re not even going to pretend to be polite today.” She spooned grape jelly onto her plate.
“Why should we take a step backward? The ice is broken and it should stay that way,” Heath mumbled, with his mouth already full. He closed his eyes. “Delicious.”
“Thank you.” Olivia accepted the compliment.
“What a great start to a dreary morning.”
They both looked toward the windows where lumpy clouds hung low in a gray sky. The icy front moving across Texas seemed to be suspended over Waco.
“It’s nice to offer something homemade or hot for breakfast on days like this. Tomorrow it’ll be oatmeal or grits, and then scrambled eggs. We only do cold cereal and fruit on Sundays when we have fewer clients.”
“Because everybody’s at church, right?” He cut mocking eyes toward Olivia.
“Actually, that’s true, just not for the reason you mean.” She offered a smile instead of the censure he probably expected. “A few local churches serve a hot meal to the homeless on Sundays so it’s likely they go as much for the pancakes as for the praise.”
“Bait, huh?”
“Whatever it takes,” Olivia admitted. “Somebody’s gotta get the catch near the boat and then it’s up to the Lord to fill the nets.”
“Mornin’, Miss Livvy.” Amos had materialized beside them. “I’ll be ready to go as soon as these dishes are all washed and put away.”
“Thanks, but—”
He whipped a red bandanna from his hip pocket just in time to catch a rumbling cough.
Olivia stood and placed a hand on his bony back as the man she’d grown to love caught his breath.
“Thanks, but I’ve already drafted Heath to make the pickup rounds with me today,” Olivia explained to Amos. “And it sounds like you need to stay indoors anyway. I’d consider it a huge favor if you’d take charge of laundry. You’re the one person I can trust not to overload the machines.”
“Is laundry my punishment for getting up late this morning?” Smudges of fatigue drooped beneath his eyes.
Olivia gave him a brief squeeze. “Don’t be silly. Sleeping till six hardly makes you a layabout. I think being out of the cold and taking it easier today would do you good. Pull a chair beside the dryers where it’s warm and read the novel that’s been gathering dust on your nightstand for months.”
He cast a wary look toward Heath. “But it’s my job to go along and handle the heavy stuff.”
“Let’s take advantage of somebody else while we have the chance. In no time Heath will be back in Austin and you’ll be my main man, like always.”
A small grin flipped Amos’s pout upside down. He’d lived the last ten of his sixty-plus years feeling like an outcast, unworthy of love. Olivia’s heart hurt for the doubt in his tired eyes. She prayed she’d never become accustomed or hardened to the fearful gaze that was common among the homeless.
“Okay, if you’re sure you can manage without me,” he said, seeming to accept her decision. “I admit there’s an odd sorta pleasure to folding a crease into warm sheets.”
“That’s my guy,” she encouraged Amos. She took her seat again but noted how slowly he shuffled out of the dining room. Velma needed to make sure he didn’t skip lunch.
“So what’s all this about heavy pickups?” Heath was on his feet, a damp cloth in his hand as he wiped crumbs from the table. Cleanliness was next to godliness. Olivia would take that as a positive sign.
“Once a week we make the rounds of local businesses to get their donations. Since I also spend time at each site networking for client jobs, it takes the better part of a day. It’ll be eye-opening for you to ride along.”
A frown wrinkled Heath’s forehead for a moment but quickly smoothed out of sight. Was he annoyed?
“You got something better to do?” She quirked a brow, waited for his answer.
Will it be so bad spending the day riding around town with me? I’m no socialite, but I’m not exactly frumpy. Olivia glanced down at the plaid flannel shirt and jeans that had come out of donation bags. Better revisit that not exactly frumpy business.
Heath watched Olivia’s gaze drift downward to her clothing. The red and black of the faded shirt against her complexion was perfect. Actually, perfect was an understatement. She didn’t need fancy clothes to hide flaws. He’d noted earlier how she filled out the jeans with a woman’s body, tall and proud.
Even so, a sad shadow passed over her face. Was it self-doubt? No way! Man, she was impossible to read.
“No, I don’t have anything else on my calendar,” he answered her question. With the staff on site there wouldn’t be any chance to poke around anyway. Might as well see what more he could find out from Olivia, maybe even get some insight from the people who supported her place.
“And now that I’ve had a moment to think it over, there’s nothing I’d rather do than learn about the mission business today.” He tried to sound agreeable.
She smiled, and then looked down to collect her plate and napkin. How easy it was to please her with a lie. His skin crawled at the observation.
“Okay, then. It’ll take me about thirty minutes to get the residents lined out for the day and then I’ll meet you out back by the truck.” Before he could reach for it, she’d grabbed her plate and headed for the kitchen.
There was an odd feeling in the pit of Heath’s stomach and it wasn’t just because he’d like to have another one of those buttered biscuits. He hadn’t been outside in broad daylight without a cover while on a case in…actually, he’d never worked in the open without some form of disguise.
What if someone recognized him? Tripped him up?
And why did it matter, anyway?
I’m done being a cop. My decision hasn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.
A flash of plaid and short black hair moved past the doorway. The breath was tight in his chest as he admitted that something had changed after all.
And it had a name.
Olivia Wyatt.
Chapter Seven
Heath scrunched deeper into the lumpy passenger seat and then pulled the hood of his jacket over his baseball cap. He tugged it close to the right side of his head.
“If you’re still cold I can turn the heat higher for a while,” Olivia offered. “But if you’re embarrassed to be riding in my old truck, you’ll just have to get over it.”
So she’d noticed his effort to shield his face from vehicles at each intersection.
“Oh, it’s just a nervous habit.” He dismissed her accusation, then fidgeted again with his collar.
“What’s got you so anxious?” She angled her head, and sent a questioning look across the cab of the ancient pickup.
“Too much caffeine this morning.” He straightened in the seat, relaxed his shoulders so he looked less like a turtle with its head pulled in. He glanced at the mirror to his right and noted a black and white about to pull alongside. One of the officers seemed familiar. Heath propped his right elbow on the windowsill and blocked his face with his open palm.
She leaned forward, caught sight of the vehicle beside them. “Is that it? Are you worried about the police?”
The lady was observant, and he was doing a lousy job of acting casual. Time to get a grip.
“I guess I’m a little jumpy after my recent run-in with the law.”
“Oh, good grief,” Olivia huffed. “It’s not like you’re under house arrest, forbidden to leave the shelter. What we’re doing today is part of your community service and you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I know most of the traffic officers.”
Just my luck, a well-connected citizen.
The light overhead flashed green. She pressed the accelerator and the truck rattled forward into the intersection. It backfired in resistance, sputtered, trembled and then died, right there in the center lane.
The cruiser moved directly behind Olivia’s vehicle, flipped on blue strobes and gave a brief blast of the siren as if the cops enjoyed drawing further attention to the broken-down old Chevy.
“So much for having nothing to worry about.” Heath sank back into the folds of his jacket.
