“I’m not sorry I bought you nice things,” Dylan said as he relinquished Brandon to her and the toddler turned to sit in her lap. “I just wish I’d realized it wasn’t enough.”
“The real problem was never the gifts, it was the way you managed to afford them.”
Dylan gave a barely noticeable shake of his head and frowned at her. “You didn’t know why Munders and Moore gave me those big bonuses when you filed for divorce, so don’t go blaming it on my work or the money.”
“It’s a character trait, not the bonuses,” she countered. “You put everything like that first, your job, your loyalty to the firm, your reasons for bending the law to achieve the results your influential clients wanted.”
He had no valid argument. “I was wrong.”
The surprise on Grace’s face was almost enough to make him laugh out loud. Instead he released a wry smile twitching at the corners of his mouth and ended up grinning at her.
As expected, she pulled a face. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind,” she blurted, blushing. “Just cut it out.”
His drawled reply of, “Yes, ma’am,” was meant to amuse her and lighten the tension between them. If he’d had a Stetson he’d have tipped it for added dramatic effect.
Grace stared at him for a few seconds, then gave his uninjured arm a playful smack, hardly touching him yet getting her point across.
His smile broadened. She had just forgiven a little. The way Dylan saw it, the more often they were able to tackle their differences and get past them, the more likely it was that she’d reconsider the divorce and perhaps even stop it from going through.
He assumed the marshal’s office could arrange to have their change of residence accepted in any state’s court, particularly since they had both signed the original divorce papers, yet he hoped that a tangle of bureaucracy might delay the final decree a little longer. Assuming any of them had longer, he added with chagrin.
Eyeing the stage at one end of the auditorium and letting himself systematically assess every figure in sight, he quickly realized Grace had been right. Being trapped among so many strangers could truly turn into a nightmare. No matter how many normal parents and educators were present, there was always the possibility that someone nearby was an assassin.
Dylan was so tense he almost jumped out of his chair when the door beside him creaked and began to slowly ease open.
He swiveled, fists clenched just in case and hoping, if the interloper was after them, he wasn’t armed. The past few weeks of manual labor had toughened him up, yes, but bare hands were no defense against an armed attacker.
Dylan paused, waiting, watching, praying.
One end of a tubular metal object poked through the doorway. His breathing stopped. Was that a rifle barrel? Sure looked like one. How was he going to disarm their stalker without endangering Gracie and Brandon, not to mention the rest of the assemblage?
Dylan made a grab for the gun barrel and gave it a yank. To his surprise, there was little resistance!
It took him only a heartbeat to realize he was holding a lightweight plastic toy. The wail coming from the little boy whose prop he had grabbed was the clincher.
Clad like a mountain man, complete with coonskin cap, the child looked to be about Kyle’s age, maybe a little younger, and was clearly frightened.
Dylan forced a grin and quickly handed the child back his pretend weapon. “Sorry, son. I guess you just looked too real for a minute there.”
Icy, accusatory stares from many of the parents seated around them led him to add, “National Guard. Overtrained, I guess.”
Grace’s elbow caught him in the ribs. She mouthed, “Liar,” before he could explain further.
“Actually, I did join,” Dylan said in an aside. “It was shortly before we had to leave Missouri. I’d seen how much those men were admired and I thought it might convince people that I’d turned over a new leaf.”
“People? You mean me, don’t you?”
“Last time I looked, you were a person,” he quipped, hoping to smooth her ruffled feathers.
She huffed and let her shoulders slump. “What I am is an idiot,” she said softly. “I’m actually starting to believe you are trying to change.”
ELEVEN
Beth looked so at ease and performed her poetry recital so well, Grace would have been on her feet, applauding, if she hadn’t been holding a toddler.
Later, Kyle was part of a chorus that sang patriotic songs in the background while several students acted out the bravery of the defenders of the Alamo, which explained the other child’s frontiersman costume.
By the time the scholastic achievement awards had been presented, Brandon had gotten so tired of having to be still he’d cuddled up to his mother and dozed off.
“And that concludes our program. We’d like to invite all of you to stay for refreshments,” the principal announced.
Grace was thankful when Dylan relieved her of the sleepy little boy. She would have been happier if Brandon hadn’t perspired against her shoulder and left a damp spot, but that couldn’t be helped. At least she hadn’t worn silk.
That bittersweet thought reminded her that her days of silk blouses and similar luxuries were over, perhaps for good. The up side was the assurance that she was doing all she could to protect her loved ones.
Even Dylan?
Yes. There was no reason to deny that truth, nor did she have the energy to keep battling it out in her mind.
She stifled a yawn. Coming on the heels of his accident at work and her near miss with the speeding car that same afternoon, this evening of mandatory socializing among strangers had worn her to a frazzle.
She strained to see where her children had gone after the curtain closed. “Do you see Beth?” she asked Dylan.
“No, but Kyle’s over by the refreshment table stocking up.”
“Maybe he has Beth with him. She’s so short it’s hard to spot her in a crowd like this, even with her red hair.”
“Then let’s go pick up the one we can see and ask him if he knows where his sister is.”
Grace couldn’t help sounding anxious. “I hope he kept an eye on her. I forgot to remind him tonight.”
“Kyle has his sentry duty assignment down pat,” Dylan assured her. “He won’t let Beth get too far away.”
Threading their way through the milling crowd of adults and excited children, Grace and Dylan worked their way to their eldest son. Kyle had crammed a whole cookie into his mouth so he had trouble answering clearly when his mother asked about his sister.
“Over there,” he mumbled, pointing and holding up his hand to help contain flying crumbs. “With a friend.”
“Where? Who’s her friend?”
Kyle managed to swallow. “Some dorky girl named Jaclyn.”
“I see them,” Dylan said. “Come on.”
Grace was reluctant to meet another unfamiliar person, particularly since she was still having trouble remembering the names of all the teachers and support staff she’d recently encountered. On the other hand, it was a relief to know that Beth was making friends. At least one McIntyre seemed to be adjusting to change.
Dylan led by approaching the slim, dark-haired, well-dressed woman who was speaking with Beth and her pretty little companion. “Hello. I’m John Appleby,” he said. “I see your daughter and mine are friends.”
“Yes, so it seems.” The woman offered her hand and shook his, then turned to Grace. “I’m Miranda Smithfield.”
“Mary Grace Appleby,” she replied, taking the woman’s hand and noticing how soft it was—just as hers used to be before she began doing her own dishes and household chores.
“Pleased to meet you,” Miranda said. “The girls have been asking abou
t arranging a playdate. We’d be delighted to have Beth visit.”
“Well, I—”
Dylan interrupted. “Sounds great. What did you have in mind?”
“Is tomorrow too soon? We have a pool and I know the girls would love to cool off in it. Does Beth swim?”
“A little,” Grace admitted. “She could use some practice, though.”
“I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on them when they’re in the water.” The other girl’s mother looked down at the eager seven-year-olds. Beth was beaming while dark-haired Jaclyn was so excited she was almost jumping up and down.
“All right. I’ll bring her over. Give me your name and number?”
“I have a card,” Mrs. Smithfield said, withdrawing a gilded case from her slim leather clutch and handing her card to Grace. “We’re in a gated community. If you’ll call ahead I’ll be sure the guard has your name and vehicle license number so you won’t be delayed.”
Grace nodded, hoping she wasn’t blushing too noticeably. The Smithfields were evidently very well-to-do. That would have been a given, judging by Miranda’s posh accessories, even if her neighborhood had not been so exclusive.
And I’m going to show up in that old, beat-up van, Grace thought, realizing almost immediately that she was stereotyping both herself and Miranda. That was wrong on so many levels she simply shook off the unacceptable feelings and broadened her smile.
“Thank you. It sounds like fun for Beth.”
“You’re welcome to stay for iced tea or lemonade when you bring her,” Miranda added. “You and I should get to know each other since our daughters have become such fast friends.”
“Well, I...”
Dylan came to Grace’s rescue. “Go ahead. I have tomorrow off so I can watch Brandon and Kyle. It’ll do you good to get out more.”
“Excellent. I’ll expect you, then.”
Watching Miranda and Jaclyn walk away, Grace caught herself frowning. Unfortunately, Dylan also noticed.
“What’s wrong? She seems nice enough.”
Grace shot him a grimace. “Nice and rich with perfect hair and nails. She makes me feel like Cinderella.”
“Yes, but remember who ended up with the handsome prince in that story,” he countered, waggling his dark eyebrows and grinning.
Grace rolled her eyes as she reached for Beth’s hand. Dylan had stepped up on her behalf more than once tonight so maybe it wasn’t that far-fetched to picture him as a prince, although her first character choice would have been closer to pirate or rogue.
In retrospect, she realized it was his sharp wit and slightly roguish air that had originally attracted her. The trouble was, she had not realized that there was a real outlaw lurking beneath his genteel façade.
If she hadn’t been married to him for twelve years and wasn’t privy to the criminal actions that had landed them in witness protection, she would be strongly attracted to him, especially now. Her problem wasn’t that Dylan lacked appeal. On the contrary, he was not only good-looking, his new incarnation had added a ruggedness that increased his allure. He might not have been born a Texas cowboy but he certainly fit the image well.
And she had an equally strong sense that she did not belong there, Grace added with chagrin. That was another aspect of her dilemma. When they’d been dating she hadn’t realized that Dylan had come from an impoverished background. In contrast, hers had not been one of great wealth but it had provided a more than comfortable childhood.
Was that why he’d felt compelled to provide so many luxuries? she wondered. Perhaps. But none of that was her fault. Neither was his decision to push the boundaries of the law so far that he’d ended up in serious trouble.
Would it have helped if she had known from the beginning what inner forces were driving him? That was a moot point. Here and now they were simply Mr. and Mrs. Appleby, a struggling young couple with three bright, redheaded children, an old van, a rented duplex and a questionable future.
Truthfully, it spoke well of Miranda Smithfield that she had accepted the family so readily when their clothing was definitely bargain basement.
To Grace’s chagrin, it looked as if the wealthy woman was more open-minded than she’d ever be. Fair or not, the conclusion was an indictment against the overly judgmental inclinations she had always been certain she did not possess.
So, what other surprises did the Lord have in store for her? Grace wondered. She cast a sidelong glance at her husband as they shepherded their children out to the van.
Unless she missed her guess, at least some of those surprises were bound to feature a certain lawyer turned rough-and-ready Texan and she wasn’t sure she was equipped to handle the emotional upheaval she sensed waiting just around the bend.
* * *
It bothered Dylan to let Grace out of his sight, even for an hour or so on Saturday morning, but he also realized she’d been more than compliant thus far. Consequently he’d encouraged her to take her time and visit with Mrs. Smithfield when she delivered Beth to the playdate.
Now, as he paced and watched the clock, he was ruing that decision. Kyle had thrown a tantrum when Dylan had refused to allow him to roam the neighborhood on his own and Brandon was so fussy it was as if the child were the mirror image of his stubborn big brother.
He’d fixed both boys a snack after Grace and Beth had left, then had taken Brandon outside to play catch on the grass in the front yard. Kyle had refused to participate so Dylan had left him alone to sulk.
The three-year-old’s skills and coordination were lacking, of course, but he did his best and Dylan found himself laughing at the eager child’s efforts.
“’Atta boy! You caught that one.”
“I gots it!” The boy kept both pudgy arms wrapped around the large air-filled ball, holding on to it as if it were a shiny trophy.
“Toss it back to Daddy like I showed you.”
“No!” Giggling, Brandon took off running. If he hadn’t been holding the big ball in front of him he might have stayed on his feet.
Dylan was almost close enough to keep him from being hurt when he fell. Almost, but not quite.
Wild laughter turned to tears.
Dylan gently lifted his youngest son and turned him over so he could brush him off and see if he was really hurt. “You’re okay, buddy. It’s just a little dirt on your hands and knees.”
Brandon remained inconsolable.
“Okay, playtime’s over. Let’s go back inside, clean you up and see what your brother’s doing, shall we?” He carried the whimpering toddler up the front steps and set him on the porch. “Stay right there while I go get your ball.”
The child was still sniffling by the time Dylan rejoined him and took his hand. “Come on. I’d sure like a cookie. How about you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought so. First we have to wash your hands.” He dropped the inflated rubber ball on a chair in his living room and led the way to the bathroom.
Partway through gently using a wet washcloth on the little boy, it occurred to Dylan that Kyle had not come to see what was going on. That was unusual. Even when his eldest was pouting, he normally checked whenever anyone came or went. That was one of the traits Dylan appreciated.
He held a tissue to Brandon’s nose, said, “Blow,” and chuckled at his expression of wide-eyed concentration as he complied. “Good boy. You go find Kyle and tell him we’ll have cookies if Mama didn’t eat them all.”
“Okay!” Hurt and humiliation forgotten, Brandon skipped off down the hall toward the bedrooms on that side of the duplex to begin his search.
It warmed Dylan’s heart to see how quickly the little boy had recovered. Too bad adults weren’t able to switch off sorrow and pain so easily.
He breathed a deep, poignant sigh. It wasn’t enough to just pretend that things we
re all right. Grown-ups might be able to pull off that charade while their hearts were actually still broken. Kids didn’t even try to do so until they started to mature and realized it was possible. Maybe that was why Jesus had said believers had to “come as a little child.”
Using the unlocked connecting door to Grace’s half of the duplex, Dylan was so deep in thought he almost failed to heed a sense of foreboding that suddenly assailed him. He froze to take stock of the apartment, to listen for some telltale clue that he might have overlooked. The doors and windows he could see were closed and the air conditioner was humming. Everything seemed normal.
Nevertheless, he began to make the rounds of each room, getting as far as the hallway when an unusual noise brought him up short. Frowning, he listened carefully. Murmuring? Was someone talking so softly the sound was barely audible?
Or had Kyle come over here to watch TV? he wondered, hoping that was what he was hearing instead of one or more prowlers. Standing perfectly still he strained to hear more, held his breath and noticed his pulse hammering in his temples.
There! There it was again, nearby and high-pitched, like the voice of a woman. Or of a preteen boy. Could Kyle be talking to himself? Perhaps complaining about his parents and how unfair they were? That would certainly be in character.
With several more strides, he reached the center of Grace’s small living room and paused again, pivoting to try to pinpoint the sound. Everything was still. Too still. The notion that Kyle might have confronted a prowler and was being held prisoner crossed his mind and he felt a tingle shoot up his spine, an unmistakable threat in the air that reminded him of the internal warning he’d received just before being wounded back in Missouri.
Dylan hesitated, considering his next move with care. If he called out and his enemies had found them, the result could be deadly. If he kept silent, however, his son might be hurt instead of him.
Family in Hiding Page 11
