To look at the man, one would have never guessed that he possessed this softer side. Just shows you could never tell, she mused.
“You’re one of the good guys, Collins.”
Impulsively, Tracy raised herself up on her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. Adam jerked, as if she’d touched a match to his flesh, and looked at her in complete surprise. Tracy backed up, though her smile didn’t fade. First time that ever happened.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “It washes off.”
Adam stood in the hall and watched the trim woman hurry off down the corridor, feeling just a little more human than he had a moment ago and not altogether sure just why.
Tracy took to stopping by Jake’s room whenever she had a free moment. She was determined to treat not only his burns, but his other wounds as well. She brought him games, located cartoon videos for him to watch and carried on conversations with him as if he were giving her answers instead of silence.
Patience was her main weapon. She’d learned it early on. When she was eight years old, she’d taken a bad spill off a sled and spent the next year learning how to walk all over again. The physical therapist her parents had hired had been a matronly-looking woman named Olga. Olga wore her hair tightly wound around her head in a thick, faded blond braid, had a Swedish accent that could easily have been sliced with a knife and possessed the gentlest touch Tracy had ever encountered. Though the sessions were grueling and painful, Olga never once allowed her to give up, even when she begged.
It was thanks to Olga that she walked now without a limp. More than that, the woman had taught her patience and that important things always took a long time to accomplish.
It was also at the age of eight that Tracy first fell in love with medicine and ultimately found her calling. She wanted to help others the way she’d been helped. If it hadn’t been for the quick action of the emergency room physician who’d relieved the pressure building up on her spine, she later discovered, she might never have been able to walk again, period. As she had lain, convalescing, she had made a deal with God. If he allowed her to walk again, she would find a way to make that kind of a difference in other children’s lives.
It was a promise she didn’t forget. It was a promise she wanted to act on now.
“It’s a bad idea, Trace.”
Maureen Ryan, one of the nurses in the E.R. and her best friend, sat looking at her over a cup of lukewarm coffee in the hospital cafeteria. She was specifically referring to what Tracy had just told her she intended to do about the boy who had been brought in with his own personal firefighter.
Time and again, Maureen had seen Tracy give more than a hundred and ten percent for one of her patients. But this went beyond that.
She knew Tracy’s heart was in the right place, but Maureen despaired about the location of her friend’s common sense. More to the point, that it seemed to be missing in action.
“Maybe the first name’s the same, Trace, but you really just can’t keep trying to be Mother Teresa to the whole world.”
She knew Maureen meant well, but Maureen didn’t understand what drove her. Maureen had three kids of her own. She didn’t know what it meant to face a life that stretched out before her, childless.
“Not the whole world, Maureen,” Tracy told her. “It’s just one small boy.”
It was far more than that and they knew it. It was getting involved above and beyond the call. “I’ve heard about taking your work home with you but this is carrying things a little too far.” Maureen leaned forward, keeping her voice down, but not her attempt to talk some sense into Tracy. “Look, you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, honey. You’re making sure the burns heal correctly. Let social services do its job when the time comes.”
“But you’ve seen him, Maureen. Most of the time he just stares off into space.” Once or twice, she’d gotten him to acknowledge her presence, to look her way when she spoke, but for the most part, he was withdrawn.
Maureen sighed, knowing that this was a futile effort. “My point exactly. You’re a burn specialist, not a psychiatrist.”
“I’m a human being first, Maureen.” She paused, then added, “And I’m not doing this alone.”
Interest entered Maureen’s green eyes. “You mean Mr. Hot Stuff’s in on it?” For the first time since Tracy had told Maureen her plans, a smile appeared on her friend’s generous mouth. “Well, now that makes more sense.” She nodded her wholehearted approval.
Caught up in what she intended to do, Maureen’s reference eluded her at first. “What are you talking about?”
The handsome, silent firefighter was all the talk on the pediatric floor. “Hey, I’ve seen the man sitting in the room with the boy.” Maureen pretended to fan herself, rolling her eyes. “My-oh-my, he can light my fire any day. If he’s going to be helping you, then by all means, go for it. You have my blessings, girl,” she added with a deep chuckle.
Though she wasn’t about to argue that Adam Collins was definitely an attention grabber, Tracy didn’t want the wrong story about her motives getting around. Though she loved Maureen dearly, as far as Maureen was concerned, the word “silence” meant lowering her voice to a whisper. She wanted Maureen to understand that this was strictly about the boy.
“I’m not going for anything. And Collins is the one taking the boy in, not me. I just volunteered to pick up the slack and be with the boy the days Collins is on duty.”
Maureen’s dark eyebrows rose comically. “And the nights?”
Tracy thought that was understood. After all, the man was a firefighter and firefighters were supposed to be at the station around the clock when they were on. “Yes, the nights, too.”
One look at Tracy told Maureen they weren’t talking about the same thing. She shook her head, her dark, curly hair moving from side to side like thousands of tiny, bouncy springs. All this dedication seemed to have completely eroded Tracy’s libido, she thought in mounting concern.
“No, I mean the nights that Mr. Delicious Firefighter’s home.”
Tracy looked at her innocently. “The nights he’s home, there’ll be no need for me to be there, will there? I’ll be here, making up my time.”
“You’re deliberately toying with me, aren’t you?”
“Maureen, what’s important here is the boy—”
“Yes, I understand that, believe me.” Leaning forward again, she pressed a hand to her breast. “I feel for that child. But I feel for you, too, Tracy. You’ve been alone too long, girl. It’s not natural. And there’s nothing that says you can’t be rewarded for being a good Samaritan now, is there?” Her expression became mischievous, sensual. “Maybe reward each other?”
This clearly wasn’t getting her anywhere. Maureen looked at Tracy in exasperation. “How long has it been since you were on a date?”
Tracy shrugged noncommittally. It wasn’t anything she kept track of. “I don’t remember.”
Sympathy entered Maureen’s black eyes. “That long, eh?”
She was doing something good. The last thing she wanted was pity, especially about something so trivial. “This isn’t about dating.”
Maureen’s chuckle was deep, rich, like the color of her hair. “No, it’s about getting some. You haven’t been and you should.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see men, it was that she was too busy. Besides, what was the point? To her, the reason behind the whole experience of love and marriage was to have a family. For her that was medically impossible. “Do you think a happily married woman should be talking like this?”
They’d been friends for three years and Maureen felt she was closer to Tracy than anyone. It gave her the right to pry, to nudge.
“Who better? Look, you’re the noblest person who ever walked the face of the earth and I admire you for it, but all work and no play makes Tracy—”
“Dedicated,” Tracy supplied.
“That wasn’t the word I was going for.” She placed her hand over Tracy’s
in mute support, her expression earnest. “Honey, just because you can’t have kids doesn’t mean you can’t play house. This is a perfect opportunity to do it—just as long as you don’t get too attached to the boy.”
Or the man.
Tracy caught herself up short. Where had that come from? Undoubtedly, from Maureen’s badgering. Draining her cup, Tracy placed it on the tray and squared her shoulders. “I appreciate the concern, but why don’t you let me worry about that?”
Maureen knew her better than that. “But you won’t, so I’m your designated worrier.”
Tracy laughed, shaking her head. She rose from the table and picked up the tray. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Keep me posted,” Maureen called after her. “I need a fantasy life.”
Tracy looked at her over her shoulder. “You’re married.”
A wide grin split Maureen’s even wider face. “Like I said, I need a fantasy life.”
She always got in the last word, Tracy thought as she walked away. But not the last thought. This was just about Jake and handsome though Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent was, that had no bearing on what she was doing.
Adam listened to the voice on the other end of the line. He nodded, though the woman couldn’t see him. It was a done deal. For the next month at least, Jake Anderson was his.
There was a flutter in his stomach. Oh God, what had he done?
Annoyed with himself, with what he deemed as a selfish and self-centered reaction, he locked the uncertainty away. What he had done was to reach out to a boy who badly needed someone in his corner. Since the boy had made it clear in his own fashion that he had singled him out, the least he could do was to be there for Jake.
Foster’s sister had gone out on a limb and pulled every string she had available to her. The end result was that Jake was his to care for. Temporarily. “Thanks, Jenny. I appreciate everything you’ve done. I owe you and your brother, big time.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” the soft voice assured him. “Just take good care of Jake. Someone from social services will be by to look in on the two of you. With any luck, it’ll be me, but it might not. Rules,” she explained.
“I understand.”
“Good luck.”
He could hear the woman’s well-intentioned smile. “Thanks.”
God knew he was going to need it. Adam hung up, blowing out a long, calming breath. He was taking on a hell of a lot. It was quite a change from his lifestyle. In the past two years, outside of the job he’d kept to himself, interacting with no one. Now he was going to have a little boy to care for. A little boy who was shut away in his own private hell, either by choice or design, but it didn’t alter the fact that Jake was going to need kid-glove care.
He didn’t know if he was up to it. But the image of Jake, lying on the gurney, clutching his hand, wouldn’t let him back out. There’d been a mute appeal for help in those huge blue eyes the boy had turned on him. Adam knew that if he walked away now, he would never have any peace. He had no choice but to take the boy in. His conscience had left him no leeway.
He’d been stopping by the hospital on his days off this last week, hoping to somehow break through to the boy. Jake was walking now, albeit haltingly because of the burns to his legs. The first time he’d witnessed Jake’s therapy, saw the pain in the boy’s eyes, he’d almost told the therapist to stop. But he knew that would be the worst thing to do. It was essential that Jake exercise his limbs to keep the skin from shrinking and tightening as it healed, to keep his muscles from atrophying. Otherwise, his legs were in danger of withering. Adam had seen it happen.
It was painful to watch, but Adam forced himself to be there for the boy. If Jake could put up with it, so could he.
The therapist, Randi, a ponytailed, perky blonde whose bounciness was second only to Tracy’s, had instructed him on what to do when he’d asked. She seemed impressed that he was interested, but Adam felt he was going to need to be able to help Jake with the exercises once the boy came home with him. He wanted to help the boy recover. Otherwise, he felt he’d have done Jake more harm than good, saving him.
Adam had watched Randi and the boy intently, making mental notes even though he had a backup system in place. He assumed that Tracy would know what to do in case he forgot or got it wrong.
As he stood there, watching, the day before Jake’s release, he became aware of the change that had come about. Not with Jake, but within him.
When had he stopped thinking of her as the doctor and started thinking of her as Tracy?
He wasn’t sure.
Probably around the time she’d stood outside the boy’s room and kissed him.
Adam wondered vaguely now, as he drove to the hospital to pick the boy up, what it would be like to kiss Tracy. Not just fleetingly, or on the cheek, but really kiss her. The way a man kissed a woman.
Not that he planned to, but it didn’t hurt anything to idly wonder about it. In a way, he supposed it was a good sign. Showed that he wasn’t completely dead inside, as he’d surmised he was all this time.
But the very next moment, there was a deep, penetrating flash of guilt spearing his soul. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Gloria had died. Gloria had been his high school sweetheart. Hell, she’d been his girl since the eighth grade. He couldn’t even recall dating anyone else, ever. He’d known Gloria was the one for him ever since he’d first seen her.
Which made him feel disloyal, he told himself, to even remotely entertain idle thoughts about kissing Jake’s doctor.
He blew out a breath as he approached the parking lot. When had things become this damn complicated? All he’d ever wanted was a simple life. Marry the girl he’d always loved, have a couple of kids and someday, retire. Maybe go fishing like his dad had done with him and his brothers. Not exactly an extraordinary plan.
Except that for him, it had been. For him a fire that had broken out in his home because of faulty wiring in a walk-in closet had wiped out in a heartbeat what had been so dear to his heart.
He hadn’t believed the call when it came into the station house. Hearing his own address recited back to him initially had all but paralyzed him. His heart had been lodged in his throat the entire ten minutes it had taken for the fire truck to barrel out of the station and arrive at his house.
There’d been nothing to save.
The house was almost entirely engulfed in flames and although he’d raced in, shouting their names, he knew he was already too late. Gloria and Bobby were already dead, dying of smoke inhalation before the fire ever got to them.
He supposed he should be grateful for that, that they hadn’t suffered.
Only he suffered.
And continued to suffer.
With a start, he realized that he’d reached the hospital. It took some effort, but he shook off his thoughts as he parked his car. It was time to think about someone other than himself.
Adam got out of the car and walked to the hospital entrance.
Chapter 6
Bonnie Brannigan’s three-inch heels clicked rhythmically on the deep, rich red Spanish tile as she quickly approached the uniformed policeman who was about to walk away. He had just made his exit from behind the yellow-taped, padlocked makeshift pine enclosure that separated the fire-gutted area that had so recently been the popular Men’s Grill from the rest of the Lone Star Country Club, proclaiming it a crime scene. Trespassers were forbidden.
Afraid he would get away before she could speak to him, she stepped up her pace, swaying provocatively as she tottered from side to side. Unable to reach the police chief by phone, Bonnie had been waiting for someone official to show up at the club for days. Bonnie had a key to the padlock, but a key didn’t answer the question that needed to be addressed.
“Um, excuse me.” Her appeal didn’t seem to register. The policeman kept on walking. Bonnie raised her voice. “Excuse me, Officer?”
The stocky man turned around. Malloy’s deep-set gray eyes took quick measure of th
e woman, taking in the mature, still shapely figure, the platinum hair piled high on her head and the crimson-outlined smile. He took in, too, the way her pink sweater adhered to her breasts, moving with every breath she took.
This had to be the Lone Star Country Club’s general manager the chief had told him about.
No problem, he thought. He could definitely handle her. Taking a stance that was part patient, part authoritative, he looked at her with reserved politeness. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Oh, Bonnie, please,” she insisted. A Texan, born and bred, she still hated the way “ma’am” sounded. It made her feel years older than she liked to think she looked. “Bonnie Brannigan,” she clarified, extending her slim hand to him. When he shook it, her charm bracelet jangled melodiously. Bonnie smiled up at him warmly, just the way her mama had taught her. Men are like putty in a pretty girl’s hand, Sugar. Always remember that. Up until now, Mama had been right. “I’m the general manager here and I was just wondering when you boys were going to unwrap all of this.”
“Ma’am?”
“Bonnie,” she repeated a tad more forcefully. She waved a hand at the enclosure which looked so out of place in the lavish country club. “Take down that awful door and the pine wall with it. I truly do need to start renovations going here, Officer Malloy,” she purred, reading the name on his badge. “I’m afraid this awful-looking area is making the club members feel uneasy,” she confided, leaning in to him. “They come here to relax, not to worry that they might be blown to little tiny bits as they’re strolling by or teeing off on the range.”
She took a long breath, sighing, as if she fully understood how taxing and important his work was.
“I truly don’t mean to rush you, but…” She glanced over his shoulder at what had once been her favorite place within the club. “Have you been able to find anything yet? I mean, like clues?”
Malloy had no idea if the chief had formulated what to tell the press and the people in charge of the club yet, or which of the various speculations that the public at large was making he wanted to validate. Rumors were growing and changing almost daily and it was hard to keep up. As far as he knew, Stone was playing all of this close to the chest.
Once a Father Page 7
